


Burn Down the Night

by EndoratheWitch



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Batman: The Dark Prince Charming (Comics), Gotham (TV), Harley Quinn (Comics), Joker - Fandom, Justice League Dark (Comics), Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Alchemy, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Magic, Arkham Asylum, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Ghosts, Ghouls, Magical Gotham, Nonabusive Joker and Harley, The Iceberg Lounge, Wakes & Funerals, problems with siblings, use of magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 62,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24855955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndoratheWitch/pseuds/EndoratheWitch
Summary: Harleen must return to Gotham after the death of her parents.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 57
Kudos: 72





	1. Entering Gotham

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Damonicus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damonicus/gifts).



> Long, loong, looong. overdue gift that I promise well over a year ago...:(  
> This one is going to be a bit different for me because of the magic!!
> 
> Commission of Joker and Harley from this story:
> 
> https://twitter.com/quincysue_art/status/1348122418401968128

The black Englon TX4 pulled up to the sidewalk in front of the tall building that looked as if it was made mostly from brick and glass and a dream. 

Harleen Quinzel looked out the window at the office of Spencer and Shaw, her parents’ attorneys, a frown creasing her otherwise pretty face. It was early evening, but Gotham City always looked dark, and once the sun set the darkness became oppressive, overpowering. The building’s lights twinkled on every floor, leading up into the sky like a sword to cut into the darkness. 

She was here in Gotham to hear the reading of her parents' will, something she had mixed feelings about because she was going to be hearing the reading with her brother, Gregory, with whom she hadn’t spoken in years. He had left home as soon as possible and had split his time between committing crimes and prison time, while Harleen had gone to college to study psychiatry and psychic surgery. 

Taking a deep breath Harleen grabbed the door handle, but before she could open the door the cabby looked over at her. “That'll be a thirty dollars miss.” 

Harleen pulled her purse around to her lap, rummaging around until she found her wallet. While she was digging out the money the cabby asked. “Would you like me to get your bags outta the trunk for you?” 

Harleen looked over the rim of her glasses, the brim of the black, wide brim hat she wore adding a mysterious effect to her overall look. She wore wide legged black cotton pants with a black collared blouse and a long, ankle length black coat. Her honey blonde hair was styled in a waterfall of waves around her shoulders. 

She handed the man the cab fee. “Thank you, I would appreciate that.” Her lips were painted a cheery red and when she smiled, the cabby felt a flash of heat. 

“Sure thing, miss.” 

Harleen smiled watching the man hop out of the cab to run around to the trunk. Harleen pushed the door open and stepped out. 

* 

Harleen carried her bags inside the building. After the reading of the will she would be heading over to her parents’ home where she would be staying--she assumed with her brother--to divide up whatever the will had said they would each get. Afterwards, she figured they would be putting the house up for sale and splitting the profits. She wasn’t looking forward to stepping into the house, it was going to be so strange being there without her folks. 

She missed them. 

Unlike Gregory, Harleen had had a good relationship with her mother and father, but she had her own life to live and had left to pursue her degrees. She always came home to Gotham City for the holidays, talked to her parents every week... 

Her grip on her bags tightened. 

Their sudden death, ruled an accident by the GCPD, still didn’t sit well with her. Both her parents were skilled alchemists. A chemical accident was possible of course, but Harleen just didn’t see it. They were careful, meticulous people. 

When she entered the building, she was greeted by a black and grey marbled hall lined with marble sculptures and paintings of past lawyers, from the dead to the retired, all who contributed to the greatness of the firm. 

Pressing her red lips together, her throat suddenly dry, Harleen followed the hall down, then, with directions from a young man at the help desk, she took an elevator up to the top floor of the one hundred floor building. The elevator opened onto another marble hall which she followed until the hall opened into a large reception area where a woman with skin the color of chocolate ganache waited behind her highly polished stone desk. The woman, her dark hair pulled up into victory curls, wore a suit of black and white with the cut of a military uniform with a boxy, broad shouldered look, and an a-line skirt pleated in the front. She stood when she saw Harleen and smiled. ”You must be Spencer and Shaw’s two o’clock.” 

Harleen nodded while adjusting her hold on her suitcases. “Yes, Dr. Harleen Quinzel.” 

The woman continued to smile as she sat down and quickly looked up an electronic file that appeared on the holo screen in front of her. 

The woman nodded at the screen before her eyes shot back up to Harleen. “Yes, I have you right here. If you'll just have a seat, they will be ready for you in just a minute.” 

Harleen smiled. “Thank you.” 

“Can I get you some water, coffee, tea?” the woman asked. “We have juice as well…” 

“Coffee sounds fantastic. Can I have it with cream and two sugars?” Harleen asked as she turned to take a seat and went still. Sitting in one of the chairs, his legs crossed, dressed in white slacks (completely out of season) and a burgundy and white striped jacket with burgundy bowtie, and an unlit cigarette in his mouth, looking handsome, dashing, and up to no-good, was her brother Gregory. 

His blonde hair was slicked back, his little round glasses perched on the end of his nose. He grinned at her taking the unlit cigarette out of his mouth. Many people said they looked like twins. Harleen didn’t see it. He was handsome where she was...well... 

“Hey sis.” 

Harleen took a seat across from him. “Gregory, when did you get in?” 

“I arrived last night. Had to stay in a fucking hotel. Miss Michaels there….” He pointed at the receptionist who ignored him while she made Harleen’s coffee. “ ...wouldn’t give me the key to Mom and Dad’s place. I guess the lawyers have the key and won’t hand it over until after they read us will.” 

Harleen flinched, but said nothing as she brushed her hands over her slacks. That was good at least. If her brother had access to the house before her, there probably wouldn’t have been anything left. Gregory was always keen to make the quick buck. She didn’t think there was a sentimental bone in his entire body. 

Gregory smirked when he saw Harleen flinch a little. “So, how much do you think we’ll get for the house and all the crap they kept in it?” 

Harleen felt a stab of pain in her chest. 

She hadn’t given the thought of selling her family home much thought beyond knowing that she was going to have to sell it to split the profits with Gregory, but now, hearing him say it out loud in that casual tone, Harleen realized the thought of giving up the house hurt. She didn’t really want to sell the house. It was one of the few old Victorian houses still standing in the city, where most homes had been destroyed in order to put up highrises, but she also hadn’t considered moving back to Gotham--until this moment. 

She licked her lips giving her brother a quick glance. “I don’t know Gregory, we’ll just have to wait and see what the realtor says…” 

“Here’s your coffee Dr. Quinzel.” The receptionist came over to hand Harleen a cup filled with steaming caffeine which she sorely needed after the flight here. 

“Thank you.” Harleen smiled and nodded her head in thanks. 

She took a sip. The hot liquid helped calm her. Being here, hearing the will, being around her brother, all of it was going to be harder than she thought it would be. Pain welled up in her chest as she remembered the last conversation she had with her parents; they were discussing her coming home over the holidays. Harleen had been looking forward to it. She had to miss Christmas at home last year to do some work that she was tangled up in at the hospital, but this year she was coming home, come hell or high water... 

This was not what she had been hoping for or planning on. When she had received word of her parents' deaths, Harleen hadn’t believed it at first. She had just spoken to them, how could they suddenly not exist in the world? The void that had opened up in her soul at the loss of them was a wide gaping wound that Harleen didn’t think would ever heal and here was her brother, her only other living relative, more concerned about the price their death could mean to him than about the loss of their parents. 

Harleen would have to grieve alone. 

Harleen reached under her glasses with one hand to brush away a tear when there was a buzz at the reception desk. Harleen and Gregory both looked over as the receptionist pressed the button and a male voice could be heard to say. 

“Send them in Miss Michaels.” 

Miss Michaels looked up, smiling at Harleen, but only giving Gregory a polite, “I’m only smiling because I’m paid to smile” before she motioned toward a door. “They will see you now.” 

The door popped open a crack when Miss Michaels pressed a button. 

Gregory shot up and was strolling quickly for the door without a backwards look at his sister. Harleen got up a little slower, grabbed her bags, and followed her brother inside. 

* 

The office in which Harleen and Gregory Quinzel had arrived to hear the reading of their parents’ will was large and all white marble. Harleen was surprised at just how big the room was with a cathedral ceiling that held a clear, crystal chandelier and all the walls but two were windows that looked out on the evening skyline of Gotham City, which was a sea of colored lights both magically induced and electrical. 

There was a large, glass, silver and white marbled desk in the middle of the room decorated only minimally. Behind the desk sat Martha Spencer and Elliot Shaw, both dressed in black and grey making them stand out harshly in the bright room. 

Martha Spencer was a tall, stately woman with short cropped blonde hair in a business suit of dark grey and black, while her partner Elliot Shaw was dashingly good-looking in a lighter grey and black suit, his light brown hair cut just as short as Spencer’s. They wore almost identical smiles. 

Spenser stood up and gestured to the three chairs that sat in front of their desk. “Please, have a seat.” 

Harleen and Gregory went to sit, naturally arranging themselves so that there was an empty seat between them. 

Spencer smiled taking her seat as her partner Shaw picked up some papers. “Well, I’m glad to see you both here. We are expecting a third party, but we’ve been having trouble locating them so we’ll go ahead and go forward with the reading, if that is all right?” 

“A third? Who the fuck is the third party?” Gregory sat forward. 

Spencer picked up her own papers and looked them over. “A gentleman that goes by the name of Joker.” 

“So what happens if you read this will without this person?” Gregory asked. 

“Well, nothing. Anything your parents may have put aside for Joker will still be his immediately, unless he is not found. Then, after a year has passed, if the gentleman in question still has not arrived to claim his share, those items or money will go to Dr. Quinzel…” Spencer gestured with their head toward Harleen. 

Gregory growled. “What? Why her?” 

“Please, Mr. Quinzel, let us read the will and then we can discuss any points you wish to have explained.” Shaw frowned at Gregory, Her brother reluctantly closed his mouth. 

Shaw smiled and pulled out a manilla envelope from the large desk and picked up an ornate silver letter opener. Harleen and Gregory watched as he cut the envelope open and pulled forth a long sheet of parchment. 

Shaw looked over the will before he handed the paper to Spencer who cleared her throat and began to read. 

“In the name of God and Magic, this is the last Will and Testament of Nicholas and Sharon Quinzel, being of sound mind and spirit we leave the entirety of our estate, including the house, bank accounts, magical items, and everything in our house and offices, with the exception of our alchemy lab, to our daughter, Harleen Quinzel. The entire contents of our Alchemy Lab, including all magical objects, or anything else located inside, we leave to Joker. To our only son Gregory, we leave nothing. Our son has lived a troubled life and we hope that our death will set him free.” 

Spencer laid the paper down, looking at the both of them with a mildly inquisitive expression. 

Gregory stared silently at the two lawyers. 

Harleen did the same. 

They had left her everything...everything, even the house. 

“WHAT?!” Gregory was on his feet slamming his fists down on the desk. “This can’t be right! I’m their son!!” 

Spencer lifted one eyebrow at him, looking slightly annoyed by the other’s outburst. “I’m sorry, but that is what the will states: everything but the contents of the alchemy lab go to your sister.” 

Shaw nodded, taking the paper from Spencer and showed it to Gregory. “Our signatures along with your parents are right here at the bottom.” 

Gregory snatched the paper out of Shaw’s hand and ripped it to shreds. Harleen gasped, her hands going to her mouth, but Spencer smiled as the bits of ripped paper simply floated back together. “The will is also magically protected--it can’t be broken except by death or insanity.” 

Gregory snarled, glaring at the lawyers before he turned to glare hatefully at Harleen. 

“This is all your fault, you bitch!” 

He spun around and marched to the door. The slamming door made Harleen jump and shudder. She was shaking so hard now that she thought she might come apart. 

Shaw frowned and huffed. “Rude young man.” 

Spencer nodded and opened another drawer from which she took out a large, metal key. She laid it on the desk and slid it toward Harleen. 

“The key to the house and…” She pulled out a ring of small keys that she set next to the large house key. “...these are for any locked doors within the house. I do know there are a few rooms that are locked with magic, not sure what to tell you about those…” Spencer smiled and shrugged “...but since your parents intended everything in the house for you, I would think the magical locks would be designed to answer you, except for the laboratory, of course, which is intended for this Mr. Joker.” 

Harleen leaned across the desk to pick up the keys. 

“Thank you,” she said softly. 

Spencer glanced at Shaw, the two exchanging an unspoken conversation before Spencer said, “The funeral is tomorrow, do you need any help?” 

Harleen felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. “Ah...the funeral home took care of most everything, sending out the notices and such. I only had to pick out flowers…” Harleen sucked her breath in too hard, causing her to hiccup as she tried not to cry, but tears came regardless of her efforts. 

Shaw murmured. “I heard it is going to be quite the...event…” Spencer shot him a dirty look and Shaw shrugged. He had blanked on a better word. 

Harleen nodded, wiping at her tears. “Yes, I hear even the illustrious Bruce Wayne will be there. I knew my parents were well-known in Gotham, but I never really realized how far their circle extended.” 

“Will the wake be at your home?” Spencer asked to which Harleen nodded. “Yes, Mr. Cobblepot was kind enough to arrange for food and drink to be served…” 

“Ah yes, I had heard that your father and Mr. Cobblepot were good friends. Well...if you need anything else from us, we will be happy to help.” Shaw smiled kindly. “You can consider us your attorneys, unless of course you decide to switch firms.” 

“I don’t see any reason for that,” Harleen said as she stood, sliding the keys into the pocket of her slacks. “If my parents trusted you, I see no reason for me not to do the same.” 

Spencer and Shaw both stood, but Spencer gave Harleen a sympathetic smile. “Let me drive you to your home. It has been cleaned since the accident…” She winced when she saw Harleen’s face pale, but she pushed forward. “I personally had the kitchen restocked for you, so you should have the basics, but I can give you the number of a grocery that delivers…” 

“Thank you, you are very kind,” Harleen said in a quiet tone, suddenly very tired. 

“Of course,” Shaw and Spencer answered in unison. 

* 

Harleen stared out the window as Spencer pulled her car up to the gate that led to the Quinzel family home. The magical torches that ran along the outside of the gate burned with a bright yellow light as Spencer reached out the window and punched the code into the security system to open the main gate. 

Spencer glanced over her shoulder. “I recommend you have that code changed no later than the end of the week.” 

Harleen nodded just as the gate slowly swung open and Spencer drove down the tree lined lane that led to the house. 

At the sight of her family home--looking like a shell with the lights out, only the porch light glowing faintly--Harleen felt her chest constrict. 

The home in which she had grown up was of the Gothic Revival style, painted a deep, dark purple with a black roof that allowed the house to look sinister at night, but cheerful during the daylight hours. The lawn, which stretched out in both directions, was well manicured and she could see that the flowers and bushes had been meticulously maintained, just like her mother liked them to be. 

Spencer pulled around the drive and parked in front of the wrap around porch. The house was three stories tall with a tower and fully converted basement. Each room, Harleen knew, was packed with collectables, books, and magical objects of varying degrees of power. It had been the Quinzel family home for several generations. 

Her eyes wandered up to the top of the tower where her room had been. Still was, she corrected herself. Harleen’s parents always maintained her room even after she moved out so that whenever she came home, she had a place to stay. For a moment, Harleen’s mind wandered to the last time she was home, remembered her mother laughing, rushing down the stairs to grab her up in a hug followed by her father who swung them both around... 

“Are you sure you want to stay here alone?” Spencer’s voice broke through Harleen’s memory, startling her. 

“Ah...yes.” Harleen took a deep breath. “Yes, I’ll be fine.” Harleen managed a small smile. 

Spencer frowned. “Let me at least help you with your bags.” 

Harleen nodded as she got out of the car. 

* 

When she opened the front door and stepped inside, the place surprisingly didn’t smell like death. Harleen wasn’t sure what she was expecting. The scent of her parents' magic, a mix of flowers and vanilla, overwhelmed her and threatened to bring Harleen to tears again. 

She flipped the hall switch and the lights came on just a Spencer set one of Harleen’s bags down at her feet. 

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t need anything…” Spencer asked, but Harleen shook her head. 

“I’m fine, thank you so much.” 

Spencer nodded and started to back out before she asked, “Shaw and I would like to drive you to the funeral…” 

“Oh, yes of course, that would be nice…” Harleen said absently as she gazed around her family home. Ghosts of her happy past drifted in front of her, running down the hall with her first magical creation, a glowing stone...her father using magic to fly her down the hall as her mother yelled at him to put their daughter down...baking cookies with her mother...sewing the holes in her father’s sock with her father... 

“Good night Dr. Quinzel,” Spencer said with a soft note of concern before the attorney stepped out and closed the door behind her. 

Harleen stood absolutely still for a long moment, letting the tears roll down her cheeks before she broke down crying into deep, body wrenching sobs that left her shaking and curled up on the floor. 

* 

Later that evening Harleen was in her old room. She had carried her bags upstairs, took the time to shower and change into something comfortable--a light pink chiffon with milanese tape lace and matching robe--before going back down and making herself some hot tea. The house was filed with the ghosts of her parents, but the memories were nearly all happy ones. 

She made the tea and walked back to the stairs. 

She reached the second floor and instead of going up the next flight, she stopped and turned, her gaze wandering down the hall to where her parents' alchemy lab sat. 

She turned and started toward the large double doors that locked off the lab at the end of the hall. The doors were large, made of white oak, and carved with complicated runes for protection. She licked her lips and reached out, laying her fingers against the wood. She could feel the seal on the doors like a metal lock, cool against her skin and impenetrable. She wondered who this Joker person was that her parents had thought highly enough of to leave their lab and everything inside to him. 

She also wondered if her parents thought so highly of this person, why hadn’t he been at the reading of the will? Worrying at her bottom lip, Harleen stared at the door which also concealed the site of her parents’ death. She still couldn’t believe that her parents had died from an alchemy accident. They were the best at what they did, careful, professional. 

The sting of tears threatened her again and she turned away from the doors. She needed to get some sleep; tomorrow would be a long day. 

* 

Gregory Quinzel was more than simply angry--he was livid. How dare his parents leave everything to that insipid twat of a sister!! He should have known, they had always favored her from the moment she was born, their pretty little daughter. Gregory growled where he sat at the bar inside the Midnite’s Nightclub, downing another shot of absinthe as the music pounded loudly around him, the lights flashing in hypnotic sequences. 

And who the fuck was this Mr. Joker?? Someone he had never even heard of and his parents had left the entire alchemy lab to this man...who hadn’t even showed up for the reading of the will?! Gregory hissed in frustration as he grabbed the bottle of absinthe that he had the bartender leave and poured himself another shot. He needed to get into that house. There were all sorts of things he could sell for fast money, not just furniture and other knick knacks, but he knew there was a fortune in magical objects inside. He needed ready money because he owed a lot of powerful people a lot of money. God fucking damn it!! He needed inside that house. Better yet, he needed to get rid of his sister so he could have the entire place to himself to pillage for money as he saw fit...but how? 

Gregory was a lot of things, but a murderer wasn’t one of them. He wouldn’t kill his sister, though he wasn’t beyond hiring someone else to do that. Besides, that would just give him a whole new set of problems. 

No, he needed to get her out, but in a way that would look… 

Gregory smiled as an idea came to him, an idea that would require him to spend a little money, but if it worked, the pay off would be... 

Gregory chuckled aloud. This plan was perfect! 

He just needed to find a witch, but this was Gotham and anything was available at any time for the right price. 

* 

Down in the bowels of Gotham City stood the man known only as the Joker. A tall, slender man with skin the color of snow, he wore a white dress shirt, the sleeves of which he had rolled to his elbows, no tie, and the top buttons were open to show his slender throat. Over the shirt he wore a black vest embroidered with gold floral designs. The slacks he wore emphasized his slender hips and long legs and matched the vest in color and design, as did the gold and black pointed oxford shoes he wore. He stood still, staring with anticipation at a complicated chemistry set that bubbled and boiled in front of him with a bright green liquid, his fingers folded against each other as he waited. He licked his lips, excitement clear in his stance even though the man didn’t move. His eyes were hidden behind rose tinted goggles. His long, pointed nose twitched and his blood red lips--the color of which stretched past his sensual mouth into his cheeks--made the smile on them look like it was sliced across his face. Joker’s short, green hair was a mess from having run his long, pale, fingers through it multiple times while he worked and made him look to be on the verge of a breakdown. 

Tonight he was sure he had perfected the serum, that his chemistry and alchemical solutions were perfect! He had left nothing out… 

The liquid raced its way through the tubes, to its final destination where it pooled into a waiting glass beaker to glow bright green. 

Joker reached out for the glass beaker, about half full of his creation. 

He began to giggle with pride. “Beautiful!” he whispered with eagerness in his voice. 

He turned to look over at the man who lay on the partially inclined examining table. Straps held down his arms and legs, while another strap fit snugly around his bald head, and a gag was stuffed into the man’s mouth. The man stared at Joker with large panic stricken eyes. 

“Oh now don’t look so upset Bernie! You get to be part of a wonderful experiment, a combination of science and alchemy!” Joker laughed as he held up the beaker, walking over to stand beside Bernie. “It’s going to be fantastic!! Isn’t it Frosty?” 

Standing in the corner of the room, perfectly still, was a man wearing a suit all in black, his short brown hair brushed back from a handsome face. 

The man only nodded. “Of course Boss.” 

“See, my butler Frosty agrees. Now Bernie, are you ready to see if this does what I intend?” Joker asked with a giggle. 

Bernie shook his head back and forth as much as he could, fighting against the straps that held him. 

Joker ignored the man’s muffled pleas while glancing over at Frost. 

Frost couldn’t see Joker’s eyes behind the goggles, but he knew exactly what Joker wanted. After years of service to the pale man, he could read Joker’s expressions fairly easily. He reached over to where several gas masks of various sizes and styles hung on the wall. He picked one that would provide the maximum coverage and protection, pulled it over his head and adjusted the mask until he felt secure. He nodded at Joker who giggled with pleasure. 

“All right Bernie...let’s see.” Joker poured the liquid out onto Bernie’s chest before he set the beaker aside to watch with bated breath. 

Within seconds, the bright green liquid began to eat through Bernie’s clothing and into his chest. Joker looked surprised, his green eyebrows rising from behind the goggles in surprise. 

Bernie howled around his gag. 

He began to thrash and convulse while the liquid ate through the flesh over his chest, through his sternum and ribs, then through his heart and down until it dripped, mixed with blood and other fluids and viscera, to the floor under the table. 

Joker pursed her lips. “Well...that wasn’t what was supposed to happen. But that’s pretty neat either way! Still...” He leaned close to Bernie’s dead body. “That’s why we do testing...and why you should pay your debts to me.” Joker patted the dead Bernie on the cheek before he laughed, clapping his hands with delight and glanced over at Frost. “Isn’t that fun?” 

“Yes Boss,” Frost said, his voice muffled behind his mask. 

Bernie had stopped moving completely and Joker sighed. “Well, that was fun even if it wasn’t what I expected.” 

“Sir…” Joker had started to turn back to his chemistry set when Frost called out. 

“What is it?” Joker asked, lifting his goggles up to rest them on his forehead. 

“We need to discuss the Quinzels…” Frost began, but Joker’s face turned paler (if that were possible.) 

“What about them?” 

“You missed the will reading this evening. They left you their lab...” Frost reminded him as Joker pulled the gas mask off and hung it back on its hook. “And the funeral is tomorrow afternoon...you should go.” 

Joker sighed, rubbing his hands over his mouth and smearing the lipstick he wore. 

“I don’t like funerals,” he muttered, but there was clear pain in his words. The Quinzels had been more than simply colleagues, they had been friends, the only real friends he had in the city. 

Their deaths had hurt him...something he didn’t like to admit, ever. He didn’t like the admit that he felt anything at all, other than amusement at the chaos in the world, in magic, within people. 

Frost frowned, his tone slightly disappointed. “Sir…” 

“FINE! I’ll go. But I am not going to stand with all those fake...assholes! And I refuse to go to the wake.” Joker folded his arms over his chest like a petulant child. 

“All right sir,” Frost said softly. “But you are going to have to go to the house eventually.” 

Joker sighed, followed by a loud groan. “I know, I know. Geez.” 

Frost allowed himself a small smile. He had accomplished one thing tonight; it wasn’t much, but it was something.


	2. Funerals and Wakes

Standing in front of the full-length mirror in her old tower bedroom of her family home, Harleen stared at herself. The black dress she wore was a mix of silk, chiffon, and a little bit of velvet, fashionably sleeveless (regardless of the weather) with a drop waist, a blouson top with a deep V-neck and tiers of fabric making up the skirt. It was a beautiful dress, maybe too nice to wear to a funeral, but she had purchased it knowing her mother would have adored it. 

Harleen had paired the dress with black nylons and simple black heels that buckled around her ankles. Her long, blonde hair was pinned up making it look shorter under the black cloche hat; the thick curls spilled out from under the hat in a way that Harleen knew her mother always liked. Her makeup was simple and subdued, her lips painted a soft light pink, the only color besides her hair. 

Her father would have liked the simple make up, he always thought her beautiful, but Harleen knew he liked her to have a more natural beauty. 

She took a deep breath and reached up to lay her fingers against the choker she wore, an art deco style choker made of seed pearls and diamonds that had belonged to her mother, a Christmas gift from her father from a few years ago. Her mother had told Harleen when she was gone she would love for her to wear the necklace too, maybe pass it along to her own children. She knew her mother had planned to wear the expensive piece to her daughter’s wedding someday. 

Harleen swallowed hard on the memory of her mother’s words. She knew it would be difficult to wear something of her mother’s to the funeral, but she wanted to feel her parents close to her, so she had gone into her parents’ bedroom to retrieve the necklace, needing something of her mother’s to wear today. She had gone still when she entered the room, memories of racing into that same bedroom as a little girl, throwing herself onto the bed, making her parents laugh as she sang for them to get up. They would grab her and tickle her as punishment. And there were the mornings she would bring them breakfast in bed on their birthdays...or cuddling between them when she had a nightmare… 

Gregory had sometimes come with her when they were very young, but from the moment he turned thirteen, her brother had been getting himself into trouble, staying out at all hours, the police coming to the house looking for him, stealing magic from their parents… 

Then he had left the moment he turned eighteen. Their parents had done everything they could for him, loved him deeply despite how many times he hurt them… 

Even though she still loved her brother on some level despite the pain he had caused, she doubted her brother cared about her, had cared about their parents. Something in him was broken she thought. As a doctor, she could tell he suffered from psychopathy, but knowing that as a doctor and being a sister to someone like that was hard to swallow. 

She closed her eyes and willed herself not to cry again. If she started to cry now, she would never get through this day. 

She made her way downstairs, grabbed her black and silver cocoon coat with shirred cuffs and trimmed white faux fox fur to wait for her ride. 

* 

She didn’t have to wait long before she heard the honk of a horn and hurried outside. The proper thing would have been for her and her brother to ride together, but after the way Gregory had stomped out of the will reading (and had not attempted to call her last night) she didn’t expect to see him until the funeral and maybe the wake. She could have used the comfort of a big brother right now...if she had one. 

Waiting for her was a black 1940’s style Oldsmobile sedan. As soon as she stepped out onto the porch, Shaw, who was sitting behind the wheel, jumped out to open the back door for her. 

“Dr. Quinzel.” He smiled and tipped the black bowler hat he wore to her. 

Harleen dipped her own head in greeting before sliding into the back of the car. Spencer sat in the front of the car, turned and gave her a tentative smile. 

“Are you holding up all right?” she asked. 

Harleen frowned reaching up to pull a small veil that was attached to her hat down over her eyes; it hung down to cover her eyes and nose. “I could use a drink, but yes, I’m fine.” 

Spencer smiled and Harleen heard the clink of glass before the other woman held up a Lo-Ball glass with an inch of light brown liquid. “Bourbon?” 

Harleen smiled, the first real smile she had had in days as she reached across the seat for the drink. 

“Thank you. I can see why my parents liked you for their lawyers,” she said as she took the drink. 

Shaw chuckled, exchanging a look with Spencer. “We try to anticipate our clients’ needs.” 

* 

The drive was quiet as Harleen stared out the window, sipping on her drink, and trying to keep a low buzz without falling head first into being drunk. She had a long day ahed and she planned on drinking for most of it, but she didn’t want to make a fool of herself either by becoming sloppy drunk. 

She watched the Gotham cityscape go by and was glad it wasn’t raining, yet anyway. The sky was dark, cloud cover making the air chilly and she could smell the threat of rain. She couldn’t handle this if the sky had decided to cry with her. 

The first part of a funeral became a blur for her. They held the funeral in Gotham Cathedra. Built in 1790 the structure was massive. Her parents had loved the place even though they were not very religious. The walls of the building had absorbed so much of Gotham’s history that the place had its own magical power that vibrated in the walls and the stained glass giving the building a magical signature in the magical landscape of Gotham. 

She sat in the front pew with her brother, who sat two spaces away from her, the only person besides the priest who wasn’t wearing black. Her asshole of a brother had worn a light pink three piece suit with a double breasted vest, light blue shirt with a white color and lavender tie, looking like he was about to go out on a springtime tour on a yacht rather than attending his parents funeral. 

The church had been beautifully decorated with white and red roses, the same colors and flowers her mother had worn on her wedding day. Harleen had no idea who had ordered the flowers, but she needed to remember to ask so she could thank them. 

Her parents' bodies lay at the front of the church in identical caskets of white and silver. Whoever had restored their bodies had done a wonderful job. Harleen hadn’t seen her parents after the accident, but she had heard some whispers of the state they had been discovered in. She could only guess that the mortician who worked on her parents was also a magic practitioner, because from what she had heard, it would have taken magic to restore them to how they looked right now--even if she couldn’t bring herself to look at them. 

Each time she saw the bodies of her parents, all she could think of was that it wasn’t them, those were the shells left behind. Her parents were no longer here. 

She was barely holding herself together, looking at the empty shells of her family was just more than she could handle. 

The church was crammed full of people. Harleen recognized Bruce Wayne, as would anyone who grew up in Gotham. The man was attractive, with thick dark hair, dark blue eyes, chiseled jaw--he even had a dimple in his chin--and he was dressed in a clearly tailored black suit. He was only a handful of years older than Harleen. She had met him on a handful of occasions; he seemed nice enough, just far too serious for her liking, and he had an almost pathological dislike of all things magic. He had a love/hate relationship with alchemy, she supposed because alchemy skimmed the edges of both science and magic. 

She saw Oswald Cobblepot, another attractive man with dark hair, bushy eyebrows, and dark brown eyes wearing a black and white suit. Another person who knew her parents and whom she had met on a handful of occasions. He walked with a strange limp that had earned him the nickname Penguin. She knew the rumors about him, that not all his money was inherited from his family, but her father had liked the man quite a bit, which was all she needed to know. 

She had seen several other people she knew by name and image, but had no personal knowledge of them. Zatanna, a fairly famous magician, a woman with long black hair wearing a beautiful and dramatic floor length black dress, Dr. Victor Fries, another scientist/alchemist who had often worked closely with her father and mother. The poor man had an accident in the lab several years ago that now required him to wear a specially crafted suit to keep his body temperature below freezing. He was wearing that suit, but he had tried to hide as much of it as he could beneath a black suit. However, the dome on his head and the blue skin underneath caused any attempt to blend in mute. 

She remembered people walking up to say nice things about her parents, though she couldn’t have recited back anything that had been said. When it was her turn at the podium to speak about her parents, she couldn’t recall what she had said either. 

The only parts of the funeral to make an impact on Harleen were the fact that her brother refused to say anything and the sounds of Beethoven’s “Sonata Pathétique,” one of her mother’s favorite pieces, playing as they left the church to head to the cemetery. 

* 

Gotham Cemetery had been in existence from the moment the first people had settled in Gotham. It was a vast park, with rolling green hills, well maintained grounds, and headstones for as far as the eye could see, surrounded by a stone fence. 

A long line of vehicles followed the hearse past the iron gates to the Quinzel family plots. Harleen moved like a zombie, following the simple orders she was given by Spencer or Shaw as she stood by the open graves, her parents to be buried next to each other in a large, shared plot. The sky had grown even darker while they had been inside the church, the promise of rain even closer to being fulfilled. 

Harleen listened to the priest drone on about life after death. Her eyes wandered over the crowd ignoring her brother who kept sighing in a loud, bored fashion, when she spotted a dark figure standing a little ways off, partly hiding behind a large granite angel. 

Harleen frowned watching the figure as it stood still, one hand on the angel’s thigh, watching the funeral. The man--she was sure it was a man--was dressed all in black, wearing a long tailcoat that hung to his knees, making it difficult to pick out individual aspects of his dress except for the silver buttons on the coat and his top hat. He was also wearing round framed, dark lensed glasses that almost looked like goggles. She saw a hint of skin so pale that he could have been a ghost. 

Maybe he was a ghost, she couldn’t be sure… 

Except it looked as if his lips might be painted red... 

* 

Joker frowned while observing the funeral. He saw all the usual bigwigs who came out to events like this: Bruce Wayne, Oswald Cobblepot, Zatanna, oh and the mayor...but one figure caught his eye and it wasn't the dandy in the white outfit. (Oh someone was spitting in the face of social convention by wearing white at the funeral. Must have hated the Quinzels, Joker might have to check into who that young man was and give the dandy a piece of his mind, if he could spare any, about being a douche at the Quinzel’s funeral. Joker couldn’t imagine anyone hating the Quinzels. Of the truly good people in Gotham, who were few and far between, the Quinzels had been some of the best. Which meant a lot coming from him since Joker hated most people and was apathetic to the ones he simply didn’t like.) There was a blonde young woman, maybe eight, ten years his junior, standing by the grave and looking shockingly gorgeous in her mourning. She was beautiful in a way he had never seen before, and he longed to move closer to take in the details of her face better. 

Behind Joker, completely hidden by the growing shadows of the cemetery, stood Frost in his usual black suit, ready for a funeral at a moment’s notice Joker had once told him, which around him was always a good idea. 

“Frost, who’s that?” Joker indicated the blonde with a nod of his head before ducking out of sight behind the large angel statue. 

“The man in white is Gregory Quinzel…” Frost took on that quality of a lecture that drove Joker nutty, but he said nothing about the other man’s tone. He was about to tell Frost that he wasn’t interested in the man, but when Frost said Gregory Quinzel Joker popped his head around the corner of the tombstone to get a better look at the man. He was attractive, blond, but there was something about the set to the man’s shoulders that made Joker want to stick a knife in his throat. 

He ducked back behind the large headstone again to look at Frost in shock. “That’s Gregory Quinzel? What a little twat! You see what he’s wearing??! I mean, I know the Quinzels had an estranged son, but wow…asshole.” 

Frost nodded “Agreed. He has an impressive criminal record…” 

“As impressive as mine?” Joker asked looking around the tombstone again like a naughty child, but his eyes were on the blonde woman, the sister. She was simply breathtaking Joker thought, the sort of woman who made him actually think of...well, sex. 

“No sir, no one is as impressive as you,” Frost said with a slight smile. 

He felt a bit like the magic mirror from Snow White, assuring Joker that he was the worst--or best as the case may be--criminal in Gotham. 

“So what’s her story? The pretty blonde next to the twat,” Joker asked, coming back around again to face Frost. He idly wondered why his friends had not mentioned their children more than in a passing manner, and then just as quickly decided that if he had children and a friend like himself, he probably wouldn’t mention them either. He had to grin at that thought. 

Frost frowned a bit as he thought, leaning over enough to glance at Dr. Quinzel. “Mm...left Gotham a few years ago after she finished at Gotham University to pursue a higher degree. I believe she earned a doctorate--medical degree--works as a psychiatrist and does psychosurgery...She comes home regularly for the holidays, sometimes over the summer, but otherwise there isn’t much to tell I believe…” He frowned in thought. “She’s also a very good alchemist from what I understand, nearly on par with her parents, so I’m not sure why her parents left you their lab and not her…” 

“Is she married, have a boyfriend…” ‘That I need to kill,’ Joker added in his head, but did not say out loud. 

“No sir, unmarried with only a handful of romantic relationships, none of which lasted long,” Frost replied. 

Most of this sort of information could be found in any gossip section of the Gotham Gazette paper which was available online. He had done a quick search of Harleen Quinzel out of curiosity when he had learned her parents had left her everything other than the lab. And a second sense that told him Joker would want information on the young woman. 

No magic involved, just common sense and an understanding of Joker and how to use the internet search engine. 

Joker returned back around to watch Harleen Quinzel, blue eyes sparkling behind his tinted goggles as he watched her. He was intrigue. Not many people ever intrigued him, most people were boring and stupid, but her… 

She looked like magic. 

* 

The wake at the Quinzel home was just as crowded, if not more, than the church had been. There were tables set up in the study and living room loaded down with so much food that Harleen was sure she could feed all of Gotham. 

She had a plate in her hand filled with small finger foods; deviled eggs, meatballs, some slices of apple, and several sugar cookies placed on the plate by her Aunt Zelda who told her she needed the sugar, but Harleen hadn’t touched a thing on her plate. Instead her focus had been on the tall flute of white wine--her fourth--the affects of which she was beginning to feel. Sleepiness, or maybe it was just weariness she realized, had washed over Harleen a few moments ago. All she wanted to go was kick her shoes off and curl into her bed and sleep...forever. 

But instead she was forced to mingle, accept people’s sometimes heartwarming, sometimes simply polite murmurs of, “Sorry for your loss.” She was so tired hearing how sorry everyone was...it wouldn’t bring her parents back. And those sorrys wouldn’t stop the pain. 

Gregory was here, and so far he had been all right, eating and chatting with a few people, being his usual charming self. He had yet to make a scene, but he had been in the living room where the table of alcohol was kept. He had downed several drinks, maybe as many as she had… 

It was only a matter of time before he brought up the will, Harleen thought with a slightly bitter taste in her mouth. 

* 

Joker slipped into the house, the very last guest to arrive, with Frost right behind him. Frost smirked at Joker’s protests last night about not going to the wake, yet here he was, slipping into the house while trying to remain unnoticed. While Joker stood out wherever he went, he knew the Quinzel house like the back of his hand and knew where the shadows were and how to stay unnoticed when he didn’t want to be seen, all without using magic. 

Frost had been surprised when Joker had insisted on going to the wake. He assumed Joker’s change of heart (and acting like he had planned on go all along) was because of the pretty young woman. 

Frost found that notion interesting since up until this moment Joker had shown no interest in women, men, sex, or relationships. The only interest he usually showed in anyone was when it came to his experiments, using magic, schemes, or jokes. Joker never showed any personal interest in anyone...until now. 

Joker moved carefully, sticking to the edges of the party, avoiding conversations, skimming along the sides, only drawing the notice of one or two people who quickly moved away. He grabbed himself a plate and one for Frost, which he handed over his shoulder to the other man without looking at him. Frost smirked as he took the offered plate. 

Joker filled his plate with food while he scanned the room, blue eyes darting quickly behind his goggles, until he saw her again, the beautiful blonde. This time she wasn’t wearing her coat, or the hat with the veil which allowed him to really see her face. She was standing by herself having found a corner to pull away from the crowd. 

He felt a strange hitch in his chest when he saw her. 

She looked devastated, broken. 

He felt a strange, uncharacteristic urge to go comfort her… 

It was at that moment that her eyes lifted and she looked over, as if sensing his scrutiny. 

Joker felt all the air leave his lung at the sight of her light blue eyes. 

He hissed at Frost, “Something’s wrong with me.” 

Frost, who had filled his own plate, bit into a strawberry, at the same time lifting a brow. “What do you mean sir?” 

“I feel like I should go...help her?” Joker broke eye contact as he turned to look at Frost, a look of surprised disgust on his face. 

Frost frowned. That was indeed strange. 

“Perhaps you should go speak with her. You should introduce yourself at some point since you do need to gain entrance to the lab if you’re to claim it,” Frost added. 

Joker curled his lip, shoved a piece of cold cut into his mouth, and chewed with annoyance. 

He was about to suggest they leave, thought he needed to think over and process these weird feelings when he saw the brother moving closer to Harley, though he seemed to be trying to pretend he wasn’t paying attention to his sister or didn’t notice her as he raised his voice. 

Joker’s hackles rose at the sight of the other Quinzel. 

* 

Harleen had finally found a private corner to drink in when she saw the man in the top hat again. He was dressed the same, still wearing his top hat and goggles, and still that ghostly pale color, the bright red color on a pair of sensually shaped lips... but this time she could see hints of green hair sticking out from under the hat...Odd. 

She had thought about going over to him to see if he was this Joker person that her parents had included in the will, but just as she started to step in that direction, Gregory popped off. 

“Well you know I don’t even know why I’m here...my parents didn’t see fit to leave anything to me in their will...their forgotten son all because my fucking sister was the favorite, the smart one...the obedient one. Just because I was able to think for myself, I didn’t need mommy and daddy to hold my hand through life, I was punished. But oh no, Harleen could do no wrong...ever…” He turned around looking for her and pointed. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that my sister did this in hopes of inheriting everything.” 

“Did what exactly?” Harleen snarled. Maybe it was the alcohol making her a little bold, or maybe it was the grief, or the fact that she just wasn’t in the mood to hear her brother be an idiot. 

Regardless of the reason, her anger spiked. 

“I didn’t do anything Gregory, I was their daughter. I loved them and I didn’t do anything to disappoint them. I didn’t start stealing or using magic for gain,” Harleen hissed at her brother. Gregory laughed stepping closer to her until he was nearly in Harleen’s face. “Of course not, you were always the perfect little angel weren’t you?” 

“You left home and didn’t come back Gregory! Mother and father did everything they could for you! Even when you were hurting them!” Harleen yelled. 

“You were a mistake!! Did you know that?? Did you know they didn’t plan on having you?” Gregory sneered. 

Harleen growled. “Well a happy surprise is better than a planned fuck up! That’s what happens with alchemy and the scientific method, you make a mistake that blows up in your face and you try again.” 

* 

Joker grinned as he watched the exchange. He was liking this Harleen Quinzel more and more. She had a quick mouth on her. He chewed on a piece of apple while he watched and realized this was the most fun he had had in awhile. 

* 

Gregory laughed. “Yeah, looks like something sure blew up in our parents’ face.” 

There was a soft, collective gasp from the attendees. 

Harleen’s eyes widened in shock, but her reaction was lightning quick. Her hand snapped out to slap her brother across the face before she could stop herself. The slap was hard enough that the sound echoed through the house. 

“You bitch!” Gregory lunged at his sister, causing Harleen to drop both her drink and her plate. 

* 

Joker started to rush forward, but Frost put a hand on his shoulder stopping him. He knew if his boss became involved there would be blood. 

Joker didn’t fight Frost’s grip. He told himself he didn’t want to get involved, but he still had to struggle to fight the urge to come to the rescue of the daughter of his dead friends. These new feelings of protectiveness for someone bothered him. 

Was this woman some sort of witch? Had she done something to him, but even as he asked himself those questions, Joker knew the answer was no. 

This was...his brow creased in a scowl. Not funny. 

* 

Gregory grabbed his sister by her throat and slammed her up against the wall. Harleen cried out and hit her brother in the face just as Bruce Wayne rushed forward and grabbed Gregory by the arms. With the help of a couple of other mourners, they hauled Gregory off of his sister. 

Mr. Shaw and Miss Spencer were there with Shaw calling out. “Someone call the police!” 

Harleen rubbed her throat, but shook her head; her voice was a little hoarse. “No, no police please. Just escort my brother out.” 

Gregory snarled and struggled against the men who hauled him out of the house. “This isn’t over Harleen!” 

* 

Joker set his plate aside. “Come on Frost, I think it’s time for us to go. I need a drink and time to think.” 

Frost nodded silently and followed Joker out. 

Joker wanted to go after Gregory, but decided instead to head to his home. He had a lot to think about and while killing the obnoxious, rude twat sounded like fun he found that he wasn’t really in the mood for fun. 

Harleen Quinzel had done something to him and he needed to think about these weird feelings. 

The lab could wait, at least for a little while. 

* 

Harleen was guided to a chair. 

She sat down and sipped at a glass of sherry that someone had brought her while the mourners all muttered amongst themselves about her brother’s outburst. Harleen was shaking from anger and pain that Gregory would act like that. They had never had a close relationship, but she thought that even her brother wouldn’t... 

Harleen closed her eyes, suddenly feeling even more alone. 

After Gregory had left, Bruce Wayne returned to Harleen’s side. He crouched down beside her chair. This close up she could get a better appreciation for how handsome the man was with his dark blue eyes and thick black hair, but Harleen found she didn’t really feel much in the way of attraction. 

“Are you really all right? You sure you shouldn’t go see a doctor or call the police?” he asked politely. 

“No, I’m fine, really. He’s just as upset as I am...and I think we both drank too much,” Harleen replied with a weak smile. 

Bruce smiled at her. “I’m Bruce Wayne by the way, I knew your parents fairly well.” 

Harleen smiled at him. “I know who you are--everyone knows who you are.” 

Bruce laughed. “Yes well...I’m very sorry about your loss. Your parents were good people.” 

“Thank you and yes, they were,” she replied softly. “I’m going to miss them.” 

Bruce nodded then asked gently. “Why don’t I take you out to lunch tomorrow just to give you a break?” 

Harleen’s immediate reaction was to say no, but she stopped herself. Maybe it would be a good idea. It wouldn’t hurt she supposed... 

“All right,” Harleen agreed. “That would be fine.” 

Bruce smiled. “Great, I’ll pick you up around noon then.” 

Harleen gave him a reluctant smile. 

* 

Gregory left his parents’ wake in fury. 

He had meant to use his time in the house better than that, maybe snag a few minor magical items that were just around the house, or just some of his mother’s silver, something that he could sell for a quick buck, but then had had too much to drink followed by overhearing someone talking about how accomplished his sister was. Then there was the whispering around the will. 

He had lost his temper. 

He needed to get Harleen out of that house and soon. His creditors would be at his heels soon enough. He had bragged about his inheritance, about paying off his debts, and had even borrowed a little more from some unsavory people against the money he thought he was going to get. 

It was time to visit the witch he had been thinking about last night, the only person he knew who could help him and wouldn’t take the price out of him in money. 

Gregory caught a cab, told the driver to take him to crime alley, the nickname of a section of Gotham known for its heavy crime and other illegal activities. But the area, he knew well, was also a place for opportunities. 

* 

Gregory arrived at the address of Circe’s Magics and Potions shop. It was late, but he could see a light on in the window where dozens of crystals hung, catching the fading light. Gregory paid the cabby and walked up to the shop’s glass door. He put his hands against the glass and peered inside, but the shop looked dark inside. Frowning, Gregory knocked three times. 

There was no answer. 

Gregory cursed. He had called ahead and she had said she would see him. If the witch was playing a game… 

He raised his fist up to knock again when the door popped open, followed by the sound of what sounded to Gregory as if several people sighed at once. Gregory froze, felt goosebumps racing over his flesh as the sound faded like it had never been there. He swallowed, put one foot on the step leading inside, but he went still and continued to stare. He thought he might have seen a shadow move in there, but he wasn’t sure and couldn’t see anyone or anything else. Plus, the shop was dark, as if he were looking into a cave. He had just started to take a step back when a husky, sexy female voice murmured, “Enter.” 

Gregory peered in, but he could still see nothing. After debating with himself for a few seconds, he slowly stepped inside. The place smelled of melted wax and incense. As soon as he was clear of the door, it snapped shut behind him. He turned and pushed against it, but the door wouldn't budge. It was only then that Gregory realized he couldn’t see out the glass door; it was blank. 

He heard the rustle of fabric followed by a flare of light. He turned to see a candle’s flame burning bright enough that it blinded him before settling down into a more mellow illumination. 

Once he could see clearly again, he felt his eyebrows lift in surprise. He saw a gorgeous, voluptuous woman lounging on a chaise lounge. Her hair was black, pulled up in a classical Grecian hairstyle, and held in place by delicate silver ribbon. She wore a long evening gown of dark purple, sleeveless with a deep V-neckline and with slits up both sides that showed off her shapely legs. 

She wore no shoes, the nails of her bare feet painted in gemstone colors. 

“Evening Gregory.” 

Gregory swallowed heavily, which only made the woman laugh. “Now don’t be like that, you came to me.” 

Gregory frowned then stood up straighter pushing down his fear. “Are you Circe?” 

“I am,” she confirmed with a small nod and a smile that made Gregory think she knew much more than she would ever let on. “You said you had a problem with your little sister that you wanted my help with…” Circe leaned over and pulled a grape from a bowl that Gregory would have sworn had not been there moments ago. 

“Yes. I need to get her out of my parents’ house long enough for me to get a few things.” Gregory balled his fists at his side to stop himself from shaking. This woman exuded power and she frightened him. 

“How exactly would you like me to do that?” Circe smiled as she popped the grape into her mouth. 

“I want to drive her mad...I want her put in Arkham for at least seventy-two hours observation--that should be long enough.” Gregory grinned. 

Circe laughed. “That’s all...why don’t I drive her truly insane?” 

Gregory frowned, rubbing his teeth together. “Look, I don’t like her, but...I just need the seventy-two hours…” 

Circe nodded. “This I can do for a price.” 

“Name it,” Gregory said, throwing caution to the wind. 

Circe grinned. “All I ask for is a favor in return, to be collected at a later date.” 

Gregory frowned. For a moment, the better, smarter, more cautious part of his brain that he seldom listened to warned him against such an open ended request, but the part of him that liked to gamble, acted first, and questioned later spoke up before he could stop himself. 

“Done.” 

Circe laughed. “Brilliant!”


	3. A Cold Evening

The night was chilly and the fog that was so common for Gotham had settled in for the night. Joker loved the nights in Gotham, liked staying to the shadows and dark corners and darkened byways. Unlike most residents of Gotham who dared not venture out in the late hours unless traveling through the well lit areas, or those patrolled by the Gotham police, Joker felt at home in such environments. 

Joker relished this time of night, walking the crime ridden streets without a care in the world, because he knew there was very little in Gotham worse or scarier than him: the Pale Man, the Green Demon, the Joker. 

He snickered at the titles he carried as he hurried over the damp streets, his cloak whipping behind him as he moved. Not many people knew that he and the Green Demon of Gotham were the same person, not that he wanted to mingle in high society, or any society for that matter. The closest he had come to mingling with Gotham had been the Quinzels. Joker frowned as he thought about the older couple, how they had cared about him, even accepted him for what he was... 

They were rare people, people who accepted him and all his supposed horribleness. He hated the fact that they were gone. He hated the fact that their deaths stirred something in him, made him...feel...Just as the sight of their daughter had done... 

He sighed again and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his cloak along with the gold lighter he kept in the same pocket. He slowed his pace, stopping completely to light the cigarette once he had it free. The fire from his lighter burned a ghostly blue as he lit the cigarette. Once lit, Joker took a deep inhale of the burning smoke. The burn and the process of smoking relaxed his shoulders and eased the tension that had been building, before he slipped everything back into the hidden pocket of his cloak, adjusted his goggles, his top hat, and began to walk briskly again. He pushed thoughts of the Quinzels’ death away; he didn’t like the dwell on feelings, negative or positive. They made him feel uncomfortable. 

Uncomfortable brought him back to thinking about Harleen Quinzel, the Quinzels’ very beautiful, fascinating daughter. She had made him feel most strange with her pretty face, big blue eyes, and delicate mouth, all surrounded by waves of gold. She was educated, intelligent, and reportedly a skilled psychiatrist and psychic surgeon. And then there was her body!! 

Joker felt an unfamiliar swelling in his slacks. 

Full breasts, an hourglass figure that made him think of things that had never occurred to him before...wet lips, pink tongues, soft breasts, breathy groans, hands touching...touching her...her touching him...stroking. 

Joker stopped in his tracks and shivered as a burning tickle rolled from his groin to creep up his spine followed by his broadening grin. These feelings were exciting, fun even, and most assuredly strange. He wrinkled his nose and chuckled, a spring appearing in his step as he walked and thought about her, about Miss Harleen Quinzel. 

When he returned to his lair after the wake, Joker had decided that Frost was correct--he should go and check out the lab and its contents since the Quinzels had felt compelled to leave the room and its contents to him in their will. Maybe while he was skulking about the house, he would just happen to see their daughter. It was all right if she didn't know he was there, he just wanted to look after all. 

He smiled thinly. He had no intention of seeing her, he told himself, this was just a little mission to check out the contents of the lab… 

If he just happened to see her, well...so be it. 

* 

It wasn’t long before Joker saw the Quinzel house rising out of the fog like a dark, multifloored behemoth. There were a handful of magical lights on around the home, floating little globes of blue light no bigger than his fist. They had been all the rage for a while, but now most people had gone back to their regular electric lights. But the Quinzels were always a little eccentric, like him. As 

Joker came closer to the gate, he could feel the prickle along his skin of magical wards--nothing too difficult for him to slip past utilizing a few charms of his own--and there was one light in the house that was on, all the way up in the tower. 

Rubbing his lips together Joker looked up at the tower, wondering if the lone light belonged to Harleen Quinzel. 

* 

Harleen lay on her bed wearing her rose-gold satin nightgown, the matching robe draped across a chair in her room, with a cup of tea nearby, and watching an old movie on the television. The movie was an old Abbott and Costello comedy. She had hoped that the film would lighten her mood, but it wasn’t working. She couldn’t seem to focus on the humor, her thoughts drifting to the last time she saw her parents, to the wake this afternoon, and her brother attacking her. 

After she had showered, Harleen saw that Gregory had left the stain of faint bruises on her throat, but the pain to her heart felt much worse. 

She sighed, sipped her tea, and wished she had something stronger than aspirin to take when she stiffened. It sounded as if something had moved downstairs. Slowly, Harleen set her tea cup down on her bedside table and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, making sure to lightly put her feet down on the wood floor. She went still and listened again. 

There--she heard something, like a creak on the floorboards somewhere in the house. 

Getting quietly to her feet Harleen grabbed her robe and slipped it on, followed by her glasses. She didn’t bother with her house shoes, figured she could move quieter on her bare feet. 

She stopped at her bedroom door and reached for the baseball bat that still sat there, years after she had given up playing girl’s baseball (but she had always loved that bat and her parents had kept it for her all these years.) She brushed her hand over the small alchemy sign that was carved into the wall by her light switch, causing a tiny, blue magical orb of light to appear at her shoulder, and headed down the stairs. 

* 

When she reached the second floor she heard another sound, a board creaking and what she was sure was the sound of a door closing, but...she cocked her head...it was coming from the direction of the lab. At least she thought it might be; it was hard to tell in this house, being so big--and empty now--as well as old. 

Harleen’s eyes widened as she muttered under her breath, the muttered name turning into a growl. “Gregory.” 

Harleen took off down the hall at a jog, her light orb rushing to keep up with her. The slight fear she had been feeling was replaced by anger. She was angry with her brother, angry that he couldn't be the brother that she wanted, that he couldn’t, wouldn’t mourn with her, angry he had tried to hurt her, and now he was breaking into their parents’ house to steal! 

Harleen had had enough. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but at this moment, she didn’t care. Maybe give Gregory a few bruises as compensation for her own... 

She arrived in the hall with the door to the lab at the other end and she saw the door close with a soft click. How? How had her brother gotten past the wards even though she couldn’t get past?! 

“GREGORY!!” Harleen yelled, her bat held over her shoulder as she stomped down the hall, but there was no answer. 

When she arrived at the door, she stopped in front of it and yelled. “You better come out of there Gregory or I’ll call the police!” Under her breath she muttered, “Or I’ll hit you with a bat which might be a better outcome for me.” 

Harleen continued to glare at the door, but there was still no response. She gave the door a tentative push with the end of her bat. The wards pushed back, giving her a very light shock. 

“Ow…” Harleen yelped and jumped back from the door. 

Frowning she stared at the doors with a look of annoyance knowing that if she pushed harder the wards would smack her back harder still. She was about to give it a go anyway when something caught her eye, the light from her orb brushing across something on the floor. 

She looked down and saw, resting against the closed doors, lay an envelope. 

Frowning, Harleen crouched and picked up the envelope. The paper was expensive; she could feel how heavy the grain was when she picked it up, heavy and slightly textured. The paper was also colored, a dark purple and the writing on the front was a brilliant green. 

‘Dr. Harleen Quinzel’ was written in beautiful script across the envelope. 

She knew immediately the letter was not from her brother. 

She set her bat down against the wall and slowly opened the envelope, careful not to trip any cantrips. She could feel magic on it, but whatever the magic was, she felt it wasn't anything powerful or harmful. She pulled out a card inside of the same color as the envelope and opened it to see more of the lovely script in green ink. 

“Sorry if I scared you Dr Quinzel, I just wanted to come by and inspect the gift your parents gave me. I was quite surprised that I was given such a boon by your parents, but we were good friends when they were alive. I am sorry I never had the opportunity to meet you. It will take me awhile to inventory everything in their alchemy lab, so if it is all right by you, I’ll just drop by in the evenings to go through things. Just leave your answer here by the door. Again, sorry to have awakened you. 

Always wear a smile, 

Joker” 

Harleen blinked in surprise. The letter was from the mysterious Joker? Inheritor of her parents alchemy lab. She frowned, turning the card over, then back again only to see that the writing had disappeared. Grinning Harleen knew exactly what the card was--a whisper note. One person wrote a message and when the other person read it, the message disappeared so that the receiver could respond. The message would only be visible to its intended target, otherwise the paper would appear only as blank to anyone not intended to read it. It was most commonly a child’s toy, but effective. 

She smiled gazing at the blank paper. “All right Mr. Joker…” 

She picked up her bat and walked down the hall, opening a door that revealed a small room. Another small magical light flared to life when Harleen opened the door, the two orbs acting as if they were happy to see each other as her orb moved toward the new, both spinning around each other slowly for a few seconds before they settled down. (Harleen knew the lights had no consciousness or sapient minds, but she always thought they were happy to be around others like them.) Her gaze swept the room and for a moment Harleen couldn’t move. This was the room that Harleen’s father sometimes used as a study, but he mostly came in here to steal naps when her mother wasn’t looking. Harleen stopped in the doorway for a moment, remembering coming in looking for her father on her mother’s orders to find him leaning dangerously back in a chair, a book across his stomach, his feet up on the desk, and his glasses having slid down his nose, snoring loudly. 

Harleen felt a pang of pain in her chest at the memory before she took a breath and stepped into the room letting the memory fade to the back of her mind. She went to the old roll top desk where she knew her father kept every pen he came into position of. She pulled the chair out and sat, taking a pen from the drawer. 

Harleen stared down at the blank paper for a long moment. What was she doing? Exchanging notes with a strange man she had never seen or met, and who had broken into her house. 

But, Harleen told herself, her parents must have cared and trusted this man for some reason. She took a deep breath and wrote. 

“I see that while my parents must have had some sort of meaningful relationship with you, their manners clearly never rubbed off.” (Harleen didn’t bother mentioning the fact that her parents had also never mentioned Joker to her either.) “Invading a young woman’s home in the dark of night is quite rude, but, since it is clear my parents trusted you and the things inside their lab now belong to you, I see no reason to bar you entry. The evenings are fine. And you may call me Harley, all my friends do, and since we are going to be ghosts together, passing each other in the night, I hope that perhaps we might be friends? 

Sincerely, 

Harleen (Harley) Quinzel” 

She frowned at the note and wondered if she should add more, demand that this Joker show himself, or tear the note up, but in the end she slid the piece of paper back into its envelope and walked it back to the lab door where she set it against the enchanted wood. She looked at the note for a few long moments before she turned and headed back upstairs to her room. 

* 

In a shadowed corner, Joker watched Harleen Quinzel. The enchantment on the lapel pin he wore made him not invisible, but rather overlooked thanks to the little artifact he had lifted off John Constantine the last time the who of them had crossed paths. Joker resisted the urge to snicker at the memory. Constantine was good with magic and such, certainly, but the man was a complete idiot when it came to the basics of sleight-of-hand no matter what he may have thought to the contrary, because everytime they crossed paths Joker lifted something off the pompous ass. 

Watching Harleen Quinzel drift by in her nightgown and robe, her figure beneath the sheer nightgown and robe shown in shadow by the magical orb following her, made Joker suck in a soft breath. She was doing things to him he had never experienced. Catching a whiff of her perfume (...or was that her natural scent he wondered), made his blood boil and his slacks grow uncomfortably tight. For only half a second he thought about killing her; killing Harleen Quinzel would stop all these strange urges and feelings he had been having to deal with. No more distractions because he had his niggling feeling that thoughts about Harleen Quinzel were only going to continue to plague him. 

But just as soon as he thought about the idea of ridding himself of the problem, he dismissed the idea knowing he wouldn’t kill her. One, he liked her parents too much to attack their beloved daughter and two...he wanted to explore whatever it was she was doing to him. Plus, Harleen dying would leave the house to her brother whom Joker hated instantly. Well, fuck that guy! Harleen deserved the house and everything in it, so there! He stuck his tongue out for no particular reason except to emphasize his thought. 

He watched her replace the note he had left her and a grin spread across his face. The urge to race over and pick up the note and read her response was tempting, but he needed to leave and if he did that, she would also know he had been lingering in the house watching her. Nope, save it for tomorrow night, something fun to look forward to, he thought with a grin before he moved, slipping out of the Quinzel house as quietly as he had slipped in. 

* 

Harleen woke up late the next day, which forced her to rush around to dress before Bruce Wayne arrived. 

She pulled open her suitcases to search for something to wear to lunch. She pulled out a simple black and cream dress with simplistic short flutter sleeves and a layer of tiny flutters around the bodice with a wide V-neck, an ivory flounce and draped faux collar tie, and a graceful banded drop waist. It was styled in ivory with horizontal pleats and an airy asymmetrical hemline, sheer, ivory hose, black ankle strapped shoes and a light black silk scarf to cover the bruises on her throat left by her brother. 

She fixed her hair in finger wave style before adding a black ribbon that wrapped around her head twice in a faux-Greek style. She kept her makeup light even though she could see the shadow of bags under her eyes, but the effort to dress nice had sapped her energy and she could only give a minor focus to her makeup. Hopefully her glasses would hide most of the shadows. 

By the time she heard the bell ring, she was ready. 

* 

When Harleen opened the door Bruce Wayne was standing with his hand raised, ready to rap his knuckles against the door again. 

He broke out into a bright smile, taking off his fedora which he pressed against his chest giving her a little bow. 

“Good afternoon Dr. Quinzel--you look lovely today.” 

Bruce Wayne was dressed in a dark brown striped three piece suit with a brown silk tie and gold tie pin. His hair was slicked back to highlight his squared jaw, dimpled chin, and bright blue eyes. 

Harleen frowned just slightly. Brown, she decided, was not a good color for him, as it did nothing for his complexion and dulled the blue in his eyes, but she quickly gave him a weak smile. He noted the faint bruises on her throat that she had tried to hide with a light, black silk scarf, but he could easily see the discoloration against her pale skin. He made no comment, that would be rude, but Bruce felt a spike of swift anger at Harleen’s brother for the pain he had caused his sister. 

“Thank you Mr. Wayne.” Her voice was soft. 

Bruce smiled a little brighter as if he was hoping his big smile would somehow help Harleen smile. It wouldn’t, she thought as he said, “Well, are you ready?” He turned slightly so that Harleen could see the car waiting for her, a black and silver Oldsmobile “98” sedan with that torpedo look she had seen in other expensive cars. Standing just outside the car, his white gloved hands folded in the front of him, stood an older man with only a band of salt and pepper hair around his mostly bald head, with small round glasses perched on his patrician nose, and wearing a dark suit. The man waiting at the car saw her scrutiny and simply smiled, nodding his head. 

Bruce smiled affectionately. “That’s Alfred, my butler.” 

She nodded in return to Alfred before she turned her eyes on Bruce again. “Of course, just let me get my coat and purse.” 

She reached over to grab the black coat she had worn to the funeral from the coat hanger by the door and her purse which she had hung over the coat. She stepped out, starting to put her coat on only to have Bruce step up and take her coat, helping her slip it onto her shoulders. She gave him a small smile before she turned and waved her hand over the door, the locks inside engaging. 

Bruce smiled at her again and put his arm out to her, which Harleen took and together they walked to the car. 

The man named Alfred held the back door open and Bruce desposited Harleen inside before following her. Alfred closed the door before he moved around to slip into the driver's seat and within moments they pulled away. 

* 

Hiding behind a tree within the Quinzel’s front yard, Joker narrowed his eyes watching the Wayne car drive away with Harleen Quinzel inside, a deep angry growl settling in his chest. 

“Fucking Bruce Wayne,” he muttered to himself. 

He wasn’t supposed to be here now. He hated being out during the daylight hours, but he had felt compelled to come to the Quinzel residence...because of her. He should be sleeping right now, he knew, but his head has been plagued by images of Harleen Quinzel...naked, her large blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes, the way her lower lip was slightly fuller than her upper lip, or the way her hair shone against the black she wore… 

Growling he muttered under his breath, “Damn it.” 

He had decided when the sunlight peeked over the tops of the buildings that maybe he should go check on her. He was’t spying or lurking her told himself, simply keeping an eye on the daughter of someone who had been important to him, especially since he was convinced that the Quinzels’ death had not been an accident at all, but rather a murder. So it made sense for him, a concerned citizen (he snickered a little on that) to come and check on the beautiful daughter. 

He was obligated to be here; he told himself repeatedly, to look after the Quinzels' very pretty, voluptuous, golden-haired daughter with the big blue eyes. 

He wasn’t stalking. 

But then he had seen that fancy car pulled up and immediately knew who was inside, Bruce Fucking Wayne, rich boy and favorite son of Gotham. Blah, blah, blah...Joker thought with a sour face. The rich boy probably had a tiny dick, Joker thought viciously as he looked back at the Quinzel house from under the brim of his top hat. Well there was no point in heading inside if she wasn’t there…he could go and check out the lab, maybe look for the cure they were working on, but it wasn’t as much fun to go in there without knowing she was going to be there. He sighed. He’d just come back at night. He might as well go home and see what sorts of pharmaceutical and alchemical concoctions he could take to put himself to sleep. So many things just didn’t work on him... 

Joker turned and left, heading onto the sidewalk, his sharply pointed shoes making a crisp clip on the cement as he moved, starting to make his way home to his private lair. He frowned again as he strode briskly along, a slice of black, purple, and green in the misty, grey Gotham sunlight. Why had Bruce Wayne of all people shown up and where was he taking her? He narrowed his eyes again behind his tinted goggles. Wayne was known to be a playboy; that was probably the only reason he needed. That man was there to seduce Harleen Quinzel. 

Joker sniffed and yanked a cigarette out of his pockets, lighting it angrily. How dare Bruce Wayne came in and scoop up Harleen... 

Joker had never liked Bruce Wayne before, but the thought of him, slobbering all over the perfect Dr. Harleen Quinzel made his skin crawl and the warm flame of rage in his belly burn brighter. 

* 

Harleen stared out the window wishing it would rain when Bruce cleared his throat. “Would you like a drink?” 

She turned to see that there was a small bar installed in the back of his car between the seats. Bruce had lifted part of the seat back to reveal the tiny bar, complete with miniature ice cubes and real glasses, probably kept safe by some simple magic, but then again Harleen wasn’t sure. She thought she had read somewhere once, or her parents had mentioned that Bruce Wayne wasn't a big supporter of magic even as Gotham pushed the frontlines of magic usage. Any other time she might have felt compelled to argue about the benefits of magic with him, but that was not today. 

“I could fix you a martini--I’m quite good at it.” He grinned at her and his dark blue eyes twinkled. 

He really was a very handsome man, but other than making the observation, Harleen didn't really feel anything looking at him, as if she were looking at a piece of art that she felt comfortable leaving in its place. 

“Thank you, that would be nice,” she replied thinking that she wanted more than a glass. How about the entire bottle? But she only gave him a small smile in return keeping her wishes to herself. 

Bruce nodded and started to mix the drinks, glancing up once to meet the eye of his butler in the rearview mirror. “So, how are you doing?” he asked with real concern. “I’m sure their deaths were quite a shock…” 

Harleen swallowed, the burn of fresh tears behind her eyes. “Yes, it was. My parents are some of the most careful alchemists in the world--I just don’t understand how this happened.” Her voice sounded small and tired. “I just don’t...it’s hard losing them both so suddenly.” She sniffed closing her eyes for a moment to fight off the tears. 

Bruce shook the metal drink shaker and frowned as he murmured. “I understand some of how you feel. I lost my own parents when I was young…” 

Harleen’s eyes popped open and she turned back to him, her eyes widening. Everyone knew the story of Bruce Wayne’s parents being gunned down in an alley when he was a child right in front of him, and here she was so deep in her own pain she had forgotten. “Oh...oh gosh, I’m so sorry. I know that…” 

Bruce only smiled at her. “Dr. Quinzel, that was years ago. I won’t say that I’m healed because you don’t heal from something like that, not fully, but I’ve learned to move forward.” He sighed as he carefully poured the liquid into a small glass. “Your pain is fresh. I only mention that I understand some of what you’re going through so that you know you have someone to talk to...if you need or want to…” He looked up at her and his eyes were filled with compassion. “It’s hard to be alone at a time like this. I just wanted you to know that I’m here for you.” 

Harleen smiled and her pale cheeks turned a pale shade of pink. “Thank you.” 

He smiled again, struck by just how beautiful Dr. Quinzel was. He had known it as a passing bit of information, but right at this moment he was really struck by just how lovely she really was. 

Bruce Wayne had dated many beautiful women--not that they were on a date right now--and Dr. Quinzel was among the loveliest of them. 

He schooled his expression into something neutral, but compassionate and handed her the finished martini. “Sorry I don’t have any olives…” 

“That’s fine, I don’t really like them.” She smiled gently taking the drink while Bruce started to prepare his drink, giving her a soft chuckle. “Neither do I actually.” 

“Do you know what your parents were working on?” Bruce asked as he closed the shaker and mixed his own drink. 

Harleen sipped her drink and shook her head. “No, I mean, they were working on a lot of things and I wasn’t clear on everything, but as far as I knew, nothing dangerous.” She shrugged. 

Bruce nodded and poured his drink into a glass. “So, do you plan to stay in Gotham now?” 

Harleen frowned sipping at her drink, resisting the urge to gulp it. “I don’t know. I thought I would have to sell the house to split the inheritance with my brother, but now that I don’t…” she shrugged again and spoke the truth: “I have no idea.” 

Bruce smiled at her. “Well, if you decide to sell the house I would like to throw my glove in as a potential buyer, but maybe I could convince you to stay in Gotham instead?” 

Harleen blushed and took another sip of her drink. 

* 

The restaurant where Bruce took her was one of the fanciest and most expensive restaurants in Gotham, the Iceberg Lounge, owned by Oswald Cobblepot, the son of Gotham’s--probably--second most influential family behind the Waynes. 

Harleen remembered going to high school with Oswald. He had been a short, attractive boy with dark hair and a long, sharp nose who had a fascination with birds. Everyone had started to call him Penguin after a car accident had left him with a severe limp. 

She remembered seeing him at the funeral and he had taken her hand, kissed her knuckles and professed his sorrow at the loss of her parents, but that was as much as they had spoken. After high school, they had drifted apart. Harleen hadn’t actually spoken to him in years, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know all about the Iceberg Lounge. Her parents had told her about the place, having gone there several times over the last handful of years. 

As they pulled up Harleen stared out the window and thought the place looked impressive. Magic was utilized to keep a giant iceberg that Oswald had imported from Antarctica frozen. A chilling fog constantly drifted off of the iceberg and surrounded the area. She had heard that the heart of the restaurant was carved into the iceberg itself, magic being used to keep the temperature inside comfortable while also keeping the iceberg frozen. It was an impressive feat of magic, one she was sure that must have cost Oswald quite a bit of money. 

As Alfred pulled up in front of the restaurant, Bruce smiled. “I hope this is all right.” 

“I’ve never actually been here,” Harleen said with a smile. 

“Oh good, then you’ll be in for a treat. Now this place is really amazing to see at night, the iceberg glows! But I think it's just as pretty inside during the day, and they have an amazing lunch menu.” He grinned at her as Alfred opened his door. 

Harleen returned his smile finding she was looking forward to seeing the inside of the restaurant. 

* 

The inside of the Iceberg Lounge looked gorgeous to Harleen, who gazed around in stunned silence. The place was entirely lit by a beautiful, almost eerie blue glow with no visible source. The walls were pure snow white with intricate trees carved into the snow that lined the walls making it look as if a person was walking in a winter wood, a thick forest of ancient trees shape from the snow. Large ice crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling and each one of them glowed with blue candlelight from icy candles. (Harleen noted that these were not the source of the overall lighting effect.) The tables and chairs all looked to be carved from ice into intricate pieces of art with frozen leaves and vines throughout the ice. 

The waitress that led them to their table was a tall brunette dressed in a short, sparkling dress that was a shade of blue only slightly darker than the lights. 

“Here you go Mr. Wayne, your regular table.” 

Bruce smiled. “Thanks Lark.” 

The waitress nodded, smiling at them both and set down two menus. When Harleen sat down and touched her menu, she realized they were made of magical paper, probably so anytime the menu changed, it would be far easier to fix than a more traditional menu. 

“Can I get either of you something to drink? Our afternoon drink special today is the Screwdriver.” Lark smiled and looked between them. 

Harleen nodded. “That sounds good.” 

Bruce smiled. “Make it two Lark.” 

Lark nodded, her smile friendly and accommodating. “I’ll be back with your drinks and you can let me know if you’re ready to order.” Lark walked away at a brisk pace and Harleen noticed that the woman’s heels didn’t make a sound on the ice--probably more magic and to not take away from the live music being played by the string quartet that she could see in a corner of the room on a stage of ice. 

“Feel free to get anything you want on the menu.” Bruce smiled picking up his own menu. 

Harleen nodded and looked over the menu, though she really didn’t have much of an appetite. 

“I’ll just have a chef salad,” she murmured. 

Bruce frowned in concern as he looked over the top of his menu at her, but he didn't push. He understood how she was feeling. He would not be the one to push her to eat, to take care of herself, at least not yet. He hoped that perhaps this would be the first of several more meals they might take together. He found the pretty doctor intriguing. He had done an online search of her and had been quite impressed with what he found. She was intelligent on top of being beautiful with her own highly regarded skill in alchemy...and magic. That part he wasn’t drawn to, however. Magic was something he didn’t like at all, but today was not the day to talk about any of his own biases. 

Lark returned with their drinks and they placed their orders. 

Bruce smiled at Harleen and reached around the table to lay his hand over her hand, the contact both startling and surprisingly comforting, Harleen thought as she looked up into Bruce’s dark blue eyes. 

“Now, Dr. Harleen Quinzel...I would like to know what makes a beautiful, intelligent woman like you tick…” Bruce smiled one of his best charming smiles--he hoped--giving Dr. Quinzel’s hand a gentle squeeze, because he really did want to know. 

Harleen looked up at him, a little startled, causing her to blush very prettily Bruce thought. He was definitely going to enjoy her company. 

* 

Lunch had been surprisingly pleasant, pleasant enough that they had stayed at the Iceberg Lounge far later than Harleen had been expecting. Harleen realized as she made the way up the steps to her parents’ home that she had also consumed one cocktail too many and not enough to eat because she felt slightly lightheaded. Not enough that she thought she would stumble on the porch and make a fool of herself, but enough that she thought she ought to lie down and take a late nap. Bruce had been flirting with her, she was fairly sure, which surprised her. She didn’t always find herself very attractive and especially not to a man like Bruce Wayne who could have any woman on the planet. Of course, maybe he had just been nice to her since she had just lost her parents, and he had said he was interested in the house if she decided to sell, but it certainly hadn’t felt that way. 

Either way, he had asked her to have dinner with him on Friday and she had said yes. 

Harleen sighed. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Mr. Wayne showing interest in her. She had so many decisions to make right now: about the house, about her life, about...well everything. 

She sighed and unlocked the door when she heard a voice that made her groan quietly and drop her forehead against the heavy wooden door. 

“Hanging around Bruce Wayne, eh? Well la-de-da. I guess inheriting everything is making you popular with the local elite, huh?” 

Harleen turned around to see Gregory standing in the path that led up to the house. Today he was dressed in a yellow and black plaid suit jacket and vest with white slacks and dress shirt, a gold tie and a white fedora adorned with a yellow ribbon. His hands were in his pockets as he strolled up. 

“Or maybe he just wants to play a little back seat bingo with another dumb blonde?” 

Hareen sighed, narrowing her eyes at her brother. “What do you want Gregory?” 

“What I want is what’s mine by right…” he started to say, but Harleen only glared daggers at him. “Don’t you dare say ‘by right’ Gregory, because you have no rights to anything in this house. If you had acted halfway decent, shown any sorrow at our parents’ death, I might have reconsidered, but now…” She shook her head. “There is no way I’m giving you anything,” Harleen practically snarled. 

Maybe it was the alcohol making her feel brave, but she wasn’t in the mood to put up with her brother's nonsense. 

Gregory smiled at her and it was a smile that made her feel slightly ill. “You know what dear sister? I’ll get what I want, just you watch.” 

Harleen rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Gregory, what do you want? Why are you here?” 

Gregory shrugged with a slight sneer on his handsome face. “Oh, no reason. Just thought I would come by, maybe give you a chance to sign everything over to me.” 

“What?” Harleen said with exhaustion. “What are you even talking about Gregory. Why would I do that?” He clearly hadn’t heard a word she had said. 

“Because what’s coming dear sister, is going to be bad. I’m going to take everything from you...every...thing…” Gregory spit. 

Harleen narrowed her eyes. “Leave. Now, or I’ll call the cops Gregory.” 

Gregory laughed. “Fine, fine I’m leaving…” He turned and waved over his shoulder at her. “Sleep tight little sister…” 

Harleen glared after her brother, watching him as he walked away. She didn’t turn back toward her door until he was out of sight. When she did turn around, her knees became weak and she stumbled leaning against the door, tears burning her eyes. She didn’t believe anything that Gregory had said to her, but it still upset her that he would talk that way to her. How could her own brother be so awful? 

She opened the door and stepped in, locked up behind her, thinking that she needed another drink and a nap more than ever. 

* 

Harleen woke with a start. 

She was lying in bed in her nightgown, the covers wrapped around her like a cocoon. For a moment, Harleen couldn’t remember where she was or what day it was, but just as quickly memories came flooding back in a wave that made her gasp. The funeral, the wake, lunch with Bruce Wayne, her brother acting like a world-class jerk, drinking several glasses of scotch, and going to sleep. She sighed and rolled on to her back, rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes to banish the tears that sprang to her eyes. Harleen lay still without moving, fighting the urge to cry, taking long steady breaths through her nose until she was sure she wouldn’t start crying again. 

Letting out a slow sigh, she lowered her hands. She had a slight headache and needed some water, that was all it was, she thought to herself. And a good night's sleep. Maybe then she would stop crying all the time. 

With a sigh, Harleen sat up. She shivered. The room felt cold, colder than it should be she thought. She threw her feet over the side of the bed, ready to get out of bed and get the water, her hand reaching for her robe when she heard something. She stiffened and listened. Her heart beat in her ears was fast, making it difficult to hear properly, but she thought she heard something. A cry? 

No, no that couldn’t be what she heard. Maybe it was the creak of a board as she told herself that it must be her night visitor Joker. Oddly the thought of this unknown man creeping around the house didn’t bother her as much as it probably should she scolded herself (her parents had trusted this Joker person more than they trusted their own son), but the sound she had heard wasn’t a footstep, it was something else… 

She heard it again, but this time the soft cry was accompanied by a voice and the voice had said her name… 

“Harleeeeeeen…” 

Harleen’s eyes widened as a chill ran down her spine. The voice sounded like her father. 

Grabbing her robe Harleen rose slowly, quietly to her feet. She slipped her robe on before slipping her feet into her slippers and headed out of the room. She was trembling, but she tried to ignore her fear. It had to be Gregory, the bastard. He had probably found a way to break into the house and was now trying to scare her. Well, she didn’t scare, she told herself as she grabbed up her bat, activated the magical ball of light, and headed down the stairs. 

* 

The air in the house felt frigid. 

Harleen shivered, her thin robe doing nothing to protect her as the cold cut through the fabric to her skin like a knife as she stepped down onto the second floor. The ball of light at her shoulder was casting an eerie glow that did not help alleviate her fear. She could see her breath in the orb’s pale blue glow and her teeth were starting to chatter as she followed the whispered voice calling out to her again. 

“Harleeeeeeeeen….” 

The voice still sounded like her father. 

She turned at the sound and moved down the second floor hall toward the stairs that led to the ground floor. She walked along the small hall, near the bannister, heading toward the stairs when she heard something like a creaking board. She turned to look down the hall, the blue orb bouncing at her shoulder when she saw something dark hovering over the floorboards. 

Harleen’s eyes widened, her body going stiff, muscles frozen and rooting her to the spot. 

A black swirling mass of shadows hovered just over the floorboards, and as Harleen watched, unable to move, a skeletal arm extended up out of the floorboards to slam down. She heard the impact even as the shadowy hand seemed to sink into the boards as it struggled to pull itself up. The thick black shadows that formed the long skeletal arm were followed by a black skull with shadowy smoke-like hair. The skull looked up even as another skeletal arm appeared to help haul the rest of the wasted bones and darkness of its body out of the boards. 

It looked like her father… 

“Harleeeeeeen….” the shadowy ghost wailed her name. 

Harleen shook, every part of her shivered, her bat fell from her fingers to the floor with a dull clatter. She whispered, voice breaking, tears falling from her eyes unnoticed as she said, her breath coming out in a white puff with the dropping temperature. 

“Daddy?” 

The figure finished pulling itself from the floor, forming a black, skeletal creature wearing her father’s suit that she had picked for her father’s body to be buried in. The black, shadowy skin began to flake away and dissolve in the air like the burning ashes of a fire. 

“My dauuuughter…” 

Harleen’s chin trembled, more tears falling from her eyes, but she didn’t notice them as she took a step forward. “Daddy....” 

“Yooou did thiiiissss…” 

Harleen’s eyes widened for a split second before the shadowy specter of her father lunged at her. A scream broke from Harleen just before the ice cold skeletal hands wrapped around her throat freezing her voice and drove her to the floor. 

* 

Joker smiled. 

He sat on a stool in the Quinzel alchemy lab wearing his top hat and goggles. This time, instead of all black (he wasn’t at a funeral after all) he had gone for something a little more fun, a dark blood red top hat and suit, an embroidered vest with red playing card styled red hearts and diamonds, pinstripe red slacks and a black cloak lined in red with matching red and black gloves. He held the card that Harleen...and thought with a tilt of his head as he grinned. Not Harleen, but Harley...had written him. 

He read her note with a smile of pleasure. She was smart and snarky; he liked that as he read over the first line of her note again. 

“I see that while my parents must have had some sort of meaningful relationship with you, their manners clearly never rubbed off.” 

He giggled again rereading that line. “Oh Harley, I do like you.” 

Joker was just thinking about how to respond to her when he heard a scream that was suddenly cut off. He jumped to his feet with a frown, tilting his head, his blue eyes bright behind his tinted goggles. The sound had been cut off quickly and he only just noticed how cold it had become. It hadn’t felt that cold when he entered the house, he was sure of it. 

“Something’s rotten in Denmark…” he muttered. 

Joker slipped Harley’s note into the inner pocket of his jacket and hurried out of the lab. He moved down the hall and turned toward the stairs, the cold worsening with every step. He could see that there was even frost beginning to form on the walls as he moved. 

He came close to the stairs, his steps quick, when he saw the shadowy wisps of something, feeling it at the same time, the sickly cold that seemed to crawl under the skin and freeze the blood. 

At the same time that Joker saw the figure of shadow and ash, he realized it was on top of Harley who was lying on the floor, the dark shadowy figure holding her down by her throat and she wasn’t struggling! 

“HARLEY!!” Joker called out running toward her and whatever it was that was on top of her.


	4. Spirit of Obsession

Claws ripped through her night clothes and dug into her shoulder, ripping into her skin. Harleen screamed as pain mixed with an intense cold that seeped into her very bones. The chill washed over her from the wound that her father’s spirit inflicted on her. The cold was so intense that she started to shake, her breath coming out in cold clouds even as the spirit lifted her up with its translucent arms. 

She cried out, staring into the distorted face of her father. “DADDY!!” 

The thing that was her father groaned low and menacingly. “Daauuughter...yoou...muust...die...” It lifted her over its head and threw her down the hall. 

She crashed into the wall with a cry of pain as her shoulder smashed against the wood paneling with bone jarring intensity. The impact forced the air from her lungs in a painful whoosh before she sank to the carpeted floor of the hall. 

Rolling to her side, Harleen struggled to speak while she pushed herself up on one elbow, her other hand flat on the floor. 

“Daddy? Please stop!” Her voice broke as she reached out toward the spirit, tears of pain both physical and mental trauma, ran down her cheeks, but her father seemed to not recognize her as he should. 

Her father had to be confused; that was the only explanation. Harleen’s mind raced, she knew some spells for banishing a spirit, but this was her father and she didn’t want to hurt him. She just needed to find a way to calm him; if she could calm him she just knew her father would come back to himself. That must be it, she decided as she steadied herself. He was confused, hurt, her father would never hurt her. Harleen started to crawl away from the approaching spirit of her father, one spell coming to mind--a simple spell, an air strike spell. The spell was so simple a child could use it, but it could be effective and the simple spell wouldn’t do any serious damage to her father’s spirit, but it might be enough to force the spirit off of her, at least long enough for Harleen to get her to her feet and figure out a way to get her father to hear her. 

Turning around, her back pressed against the wall where she lay on the floor, Harleen threw her hand out and hissed, barely able to gather the breath to mutter the word. “Pneuma!” 

The spell washed over the spirit, she could see the impact. There was a ripple of the air hitting the shadow and ash, but nothing other than a ripple like a stone on water caused it’s flimsy form to waver. Other than that mild disturbance, the spirit remained unaffected. 

The spirit rose over her, moving in a jerky flow toward her, the shadowy hands raised, long, skeletal fingers twisted into long sharp claws of ash and darkness. “Dauughter…” 

Harleen put her hand out, still sobbing. “Daddy please!!” 

That was when she heard someone call her name. 

Harleen and the spirit both turned to see a man racing toward them. It was the man she had seen at the funeral, at the wake... 

It was him...the Joker! 

He looked both dashing and frightening in his top hat and blood red suit, but as he passed her Harleen saw that most of his face was covered by the goggles he wore. She could see his mouth and chin, skin as white as the dead, and lips painted red as blood. 

Joker rushed past her to put himself between her and the spirit, which seemed momentarily confused by the man’s presence. The pale man thrust his right hand into the pocket of his long coat and Harleen watched as he pulled out a small vial. She only caught a glimpse of it in his gloved hand, a sparkle of something silver in the tiny vial. He flicked his thumb against the lip, breaking what must have been a wax seal. 

The man threw the contents of the vial at the shadowy spirit of her father, filling the darkened air between them with what looked like silvery dust that twinkled with its own inner light. The silver dust stayed motionless in the air for a heartbeat. 

It was pretty she though absently, but then Harleen’s academic brain told her to focus on the contents of the vial instead of the danger she was in, that whatever the compound was, it had to be alchemical in nature. The substances held some similarities with powders and other substances she had seen her parents use. 

The powder hovered in the air for a moment more before it flowed rapidly toward the spirit, hit the shadowy creature as if something about the spirit drew the dust toward it. Harleen saw the silver dust cover the front of the spirit from head to toe. 

The thing of ash and shadow screamed when the dust touched it. The wail seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, filling the old house with its sound. Harleen covered her ears with a gasp of pain, pulling her legs toward herself, and ducking her head to reduce the pain of the sound. The man in the top hat who could only be the Joker didn’t react to the wail that felt as if it were ripping nails across Harleen’s bones. 

Having trouble focusing, Harleen tried to watch the spirit as it elgonaged. Bits of ashes drifted in the air around the thing of shadows as if the skin that it didn’t possess was being ripped from it. The face of her father disappeared, as if the image was torn and shredded by the silvery powder until the face underneath looked like nothing that had ever been human. In the next beat of her heart, Harleen watched the shadow dissolve, her heart breaking as it vanished from the hall. 

Within seconds the apparition was gone, dissipated as if it had never existed before, except to leave behind the smell of brimstone and pomegranate. 

The Joker stood unmoving, staring at the spot where the thing had been, breathing hard through his nose for a few seconds before he turned around and hurried over to Harleen. He reached down and grasped her by her shoulders, lifting her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather. 

Harleen stared at the man in front of her. He was tall, a full head and shoulders above her. He frowned at her, his hands still holding her upper arms. While she couldn’t see his face because of the goggles he wore, because of the magical light that danced lazily in the hall, Harleen saw that his mouth was expressive. Being this close allowed Harleen to see that they were sensual lips, painted a dark, blood red, and his teeth were perfectly straight and pristine white, like his skin. She could see hints of his green hair peaking out from under the top hat. 

“Are you all right?” he asked in a voice that she found comforting. 

Harleen saw the slight turn of his head, his gaze on her shoulder where her father had hurt her. The fabric of her gown and housecoat were torn, nearly exposing one breast, and as she looked down, she could see that the ghostly claws had left behind what looked like scars of white against her skin. She could still feel the cold from the attack, but the chill was fading some, as were the scars. Soon there would be nothing left, but the torn garment to say that she had been attacked. 

Looking back to Joker, Harleen couldn’t see his eyes through the colored lenses. There was only a hint of them behind the dark ruby lenses of his goggles, but she could see the frown on his red lips and the way his skin wrinkled around his brow in concern and maybe confusion. 

“Thank you.” Harleen's voice shook as she began to relax and the fear and strangeness of what had just happened flooded over her. She wrapped her arms around the strange man’s waist, pressing her face against his chest while embracing him. The fact that she was alone, her parents dead, her brother angry with her, and she had no one, no one she could call for help--no one except maybe the police--made Harleen feel small, exposed, and heightened her feelings of loss. She had just been attacked, and if not for this mysterious man whom her parents seemed to trust, who knew what her father’s angry spirit might have done? All of these thoughts and emotions washed over Harleen in a matter of seconds leaving her feeling more lost and scared than before. 

She wanted, needed the assurance of another living soul, a living, breathing person. 

“Thank you,” she whispered again. This time the words held more unspoken meaning, her embrace tightening slightly. 

Joker stiffened in almost comical fashion when she embraced him, his eyes behind his goggles going wide. 

He was not someone people hugged, or touched for that matter. 

He was not someone who hugged or touched people in return. 

Affection was a foreign concept to him, except...he had affection for the Quinzels, affection and admiration, but that had been an anomaly. And he trusted Frost, but that was quite different from...this... 

This woman made him feel strange, uncomfortable. She made him feel...things. Strange, weird, tense things that he didn’t understand. 

His hands now hovered in the air beside the young woman as if he were afraid to touch her and in reality, he was a little scared to touch her, because touching her was something he wanted to do very much. 

There were few things in this world that made Joker feel any sort of intensity: murder, his experiments, Batman, chaos, but this, whatever this was he was feeling because of Harley was new, so different than anything he even understood. 

These strange feelings made him uncomfortable and a little anxious. 

Joker swallowed, looking down at the top of Harley’s head. Her pretty blonde hair was a mess of curls, but still looked soft, like he would be running his fingers through the softest silk if he touched her hair. He could feel the warmth of her body through his clothing (though she still shook a little), the press of her full breasts, the beat of her heart, her warm breath through his shirt. The feelings that raced through him were so strange. He wanted to protect her, wanted to press her up against the wall and ravage her mouth with a kiss. He wanted to feel her tongue in his mouth, to run his hands over her body. He wanted to feel her, smell her, taste her. He wanted to finish ripping her nightgown... 

All these strange, new feelings were so strong that Joker had to get away from her because he didn’t know what to do! And he always knew what to do!! He was the Joker!! 

He reached down and grabbed her arms, breaking her hold on him before he stepped back from her. He held her upper arms, staring down into her pretty face, her hair falling around her delicate, almost fey-like features in a way that made him think of beds, pillows and Sunday morning sex while lips were full, opened just enough that he could see her clean, white teeth and a hint of her pink tongue which sent his mind racing down corridors of passionate kissing, of tasting her tongue, but her eyes were the worst! Her eyes were large and beautifully shaped with dark lashes, light blue eyes that made him think of frozen crystalline waters. The hot spike of desire he felt was so strange and new that his brilliant brain simply couldn’t process what was going on. 

Joker felt another strange feeling too. Guilt? He wasn’t sure if that was what he was feeling or not, but he didn’t like the way Harley looked at him; confused, vulnerable and thankful. The way her blue eyes stared up at him simply made him want even more to wrap his arms around her, to find out what her lips tasted like, to press her full, luscious body against his...all of which meant he needed to leave, now. 

“I...ah...I have to go...ah…” Joker shoved her out from him to arms length, letting go of her arms and turned. Harleen watched him run down the hall, practically sprinting as if he was on fire. He spun at the staircase as he grabbed the rail and threw himself down the stairs. 

Harleen heard his running feet on the stairs and then the sound of her front door being opened and closed with a loud bang. 

She stood there in her hall confused. 

“That man is so strange…” she murmured, pulling her torn gown up a little and grasping it with one hand at her throat, while the fingers of her other hand brushed across her bottom lip in thought. She found herself wondering what he looked like behind the goggles. His mouth had been alluring, his chin long and his cheekbones had been the sort a model would envy. 

Shivering, Harleen headed to her room to change into something not torn by supernatural forces, chiding herself for letting her thoughts drift to wondering about the attractiveness of some mysterious friend of her parents. 

“Must be the shock,” she muttered as she took the stairs to her room. 

Fear still made her feel weak in the knees, but she forced herself to focus on her task. Change, then secure the house as best she could, and then she needed some sleep. She was not about to let something like a ghost encounter--even if it was her father--scare her. She was Dr. Harleen Quinzel she told herself, and Dr. Quinzel was not scared. 

Though she wondered if she was going to be able to sleep or would the frightening visage of her father’s spirit haunted her dreams? 

No, she told herself, she was in control. Spirits could be dealt with and that was what she was going to do. 

* 

Dressed in a pair of Japanese inspired, embroidered with red and orange lilies, silk and satin peach colored pajama pants and top, Harleen made her way back down the stairs from her bedroom, her feet now slipped into a pair of matching slippers that made no sound when she walked. There wasn’t much she could do tonight against ghosts unless she wanted to call the Gotham PD and let some of their witches seal the house against spirit invasion and set a spirit trap. (And that was if they believed her. She had no proof of a ghostly presence.) But while her father’s spirit had scared her she didn’t want to do anything that would bar him from the house, or her mother if she showed up. Trapping them in one of the Gotham PD’s spirit bottles would be even worse. No, she had to take care of this herself. She needed to find out why her father’s ghost had appeared like he had. Something about this just didn’t feel right. 

Something was wrong, very wrong with her father’s spirit, but that thing that had attacked her had still been her father and she would not hurt him. She didn’t know what he blamed her for, but she had to find out. Another shiver of icy cold crawled down her spine mixed with guilt. 

Had she done something to hurt her parents before their death? 

The thought brought the sting of tears to Harleen’s eyes. 

She would never hurt her parents--never intentionally--but if she had, whatever it was had been terrible if her father’s spirit was any indication. Perhaps he had been confused, hurt certainly. 

That had to be it. Confusion was common in spirits who died unexpectedly. 

Moving carefully through her house, turning all the lights on as well as activating every magical light in the house, Harleen salted the doors and windows. It was a weak, temporary shield, but the salt would allow her to sleep tonight, and her gut told her that whatever the Joker had thrown at the apparition, it would not be back tonight. She determined that in the morning she would search out a spiritualist, someone who could advise her on what she needed to do and why her father’s spirit had come to her like he had. Maybe a spiritualist would help her find a way to communicate with her father, to break through whatever torment had turned him into that horrible creature. 

She shivered again, wondering if the spirit's appearance had anything to do with how her parents had died. 

While she worked on salting the house's many windows, a couple of magical globes keeping pace with her, Harleen stopped in the hall where her parents' alchemy lab was and stared. 

The doors to their lab was open. 

Joker must have forgotten to close it in his hurry to help her, she realized as she slowly made her way toward the doors, moving as if she were afraid they would slam shut on her. 

But as she approached, the doors remained open. 

She could simply pull the doors closed and the seals would reassert themselves the moment the doors closed, but… 

Harleen slowly stepped through the entry and into her parents’ lab and stopped, the magical globes at her shoulder spinning lazily around her. 

She waited a few heartbeats, but nothing happened. 

Frowning, Harleen stepped further into the lab, stopping again as memories washed over her. Images of her parents working together, the smells of sulfur, fruit, spices, herbs, and other chemical smells, mixed with scents of wax and the sounds of the bubbling liquid all accompanied by her mother’s old gramophone playing music while they worked. 

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom of the room, tears balanced on her lashes, the balls of light slowly highlighted different spots of the room as they moved slowly around. Harleen could see her parents’ chemistry tools, the piles and piles of books, notebooks and papers with hours and hours of notes written on them by both her parents, jars of chemicals, samples, strangely shaped skeletons and skulls, as well as so many of things, all filling shelves that lined the walls of the lab. 

Swallowing Harleen stepped further into the lab, her eyes wide as she looked around before she saw the whisper note that she and Joker had been exchanging lying on the floor by a stool. Pressing her lips together, Harleen reached down and picked the note card up, but there was nothing on it except what she had written last night. Frowning, she held onto the card and examined the area where she found it. 

There was a stool by one of the many desks in the room. With another frown she noticed that the top of the stool was clean. She only noticed this because as the magical orbs floated around the lab she could see the dust everywhere in the room. Her parents had never been as conscientious about cleaning this room as they were about the rest of the house, since once they were in here they were both focused on their work, so that something being cleaned of dust was noticeable. Sitting on the desk behind the one clean stool was a book lying open. 

Stepping closer, Harleen looked down at the contents of the book, one of the glowing orbs coming closer to hover over her shoulder, highlighting the text for her. 

The notes inside were handwritten, dated...she could tell it was one of her parents’ journals. Harleen could tell by the script that this journal had been her mother’s. Harleen lightly reached out, her fingertips hovering over the page. Her mother’s handwriting was always so elegant, with drips and swirls that made Harlene think of dancing fairies on the page. 

Scanning the book Harleen began to read what her mother had written. Some of the notes in the margins or between sentences made no sense to her, referring to experiments and chemicals that were unfamiliar to Harleen, but then something in the words caught her eyes and caused her to suck in a breath. 

Her eyes scanned rapidly over the pages in front of her. 

“So far my husband and I have made no progress in finding a cure for Joker’s skin and other physiological conditions. We have experimented with finding ways to activate the natural melanocytes in his skin cells, but they seem to be dead. The melanocyte stimulating hormones have no reaction. We even looked into increasing the estrogen in his system as a way to darken his skin, but nothing seems to work--his body rejects everything we try. He is resistant to nearly any chemical introduced to his system and my husband believes that Joker may in fact be resistant to all chemicals, which means that there is nothing we could introduce to his system that his own modified body would not easily fight off. 

“It’s impressive really. 

“Since all natural and scientific means to cure Joker have failed, we are now beginning our research into magical and alchemical means to help him. This will be new ground for all of us, but I have to admit I’m excited about the possibilities. 

“If only we could have a sample of the acid that bleached Joker’s skin and turned his hair green...and...caused the poor man’s madness. What were the exact circumstances that happened to cause Joker to look and be how he currently is? His memories of the incident are sketchy, only remembering that he was dunked in acid, and he has no memories of the man he was before now. We’ve decided to start by looking at all the places in Gotham that hold a high concentration of acid and try to obtain samples. It’s not much of a start, but it's something. I just hope we can provide Joker with a cure that will be more than just cosmetic.” 

Harleen frowned, stepping back from the journal. “Madness?” she said out loud. He hadn’t seemed mad to her, but then again she hadn’t really spoken to him. And a cure for his skin condition? 

Was this why they had left the lab and its contents to Joker, to help him cure himself? Did this cure they were working on have something to do with their deaths? 

Pressing her lips together Harleen gently paged through her mother’s journal. There was a brief chronicle of experiments, but what caught Harleen’s eye was the fact that the margins of her mother’s journal, at the halfway mark, began to be filled with a strange writing in a language Harleen had never seen before. She found more and more pages filled with the strange symbols that she was sure wasn’t any known language, but what were they? 

Her brow furrowed as Harleen closed the book and looked up. That was when she noticed that there were several more books stacked on the desk, all with leather covers; each looked like one of the books her parents kept as journals. She reached for another that lay nearby. Flipping it open, Harleen saw that this journal had her father’s handwriting inside, but, again halfway through the journal, there was that same strange language written in the margins. 

Harleen ran her fingertips over the foreign words. “A code?” she asked herself aloud. Why would her parents have coded information in their journals? Was it a code that this Joker knew? Who were they afraid would find their journals in their private lab? A lab they sealed off only allowing their strange friend to open? Were these experiments to try and cure the Joker the reason for her father’s spirit to appear to her in such a ghastly form? The reason why he had been so...terrifying? 

But that couldn't be right she thought as she pulled another journal out and flipped through it, another written by her father, this one nearly all in code. Harleen worried at her bottom lip as she examined the strange writing before she closed the book and put it back down. 

She needed to speak with this Joker person. 

Briefly she thought about taking one of the journals with her to try to figure out the code on her own, but she changed her mind. No, she needed to speak to this Joker person. What she was doing right now was as good as trespassing since this room and all its contents belonged to Joker which meant he had to know the code and what it meant...and perhaps the biggest question of all. 

Why? 

Taking a deep breath, Harleen reminded herself that her parents had trusted Joker enough to give him this room, enough that they allowed him to enter their home. He knew how to get past the magical wards... 

There had to be a reason for that. 

And he had just saved her. 

She didn’t know the man, but Harleen decided that he had earned at least a small level of trust from her and she was going to trust her parents. With that, Harleen turned and left the room, pulling the doors closed behind her, the magical seal falling back into place. 

She looked down at the whisper note in her hand. 

“Guess I’ll just leave you another note for tomorrow,” she said before she yawned, exhausted and mostly content that the salt would protect her, at least for tonight. 

* 

When Joker arrived at the abandoned church that he called home, he raced up the steps, taking them two at a time, and shot through the large ornate front doors. His heart was beating hard and fast. He had run all the way home from the Quinzel property, his mind in turmoil. 

The doors slammed behind him, candles suddenly coming to life along the aisle and in several nooks and crannies the moment Joker rushed inside. Joker ripped his hat and his goggles off, throwing them absently into the room where they fell across some ancient, rotten pews. He followed this by yanking his gloves off while he stomped down the center aisle. He was angry, but he wasn’t sure what he was angry about exactly. 

These strange feelings he was experiencing were distracting. 

He could still smell her hair!! 

Damn it!! 

Joker growled as he marched angrily down the aisle of the church, past the remains of the altar and pulpit, and plopped himself down in front of the church’s large, ancient and grand pipe organ. This organ was part of the reason he had picked his place as his home--that and a large underground crypt that had ancient tunnels that connected all over Gotham, he used for a lab, but the organ was over the top and so dramatic, he loved it! 

The other plus that this church held was the fact that it was located in one of Gotham City’s many small abandoned communities, a place so infested with spirits of the dead and any number of other unsavory supernatural elements that all decent people had fled, leaving this small section of Gotham to the homeless, the poor, the drug addicts, and the strange. Even the Gotham PD were reluctant to come into The Bowery any longer, which made it a perfect location for a criminal mastermind like himself, for the Green Ghost of Gotham to hide out. 

Flipping the tails of his coat back, Joker sat down in front of the organ and began to unbutton his shirt sleeves, rolling them up to his elbows. He heard a door open and knew without looking that it was Frost. 

Frost frowned when he saw Joker sitting at the organ. His boss only ever played the organ when something was bothering him, when he needed to think and committing some act of violence was not the answer. Moving quietly, the majordomo headed into the nave to retrieve Joker’s discarded gloves, hat, and goggles. 

Once his sleeves were rolled up, Joker took a deep breath through his nostrils and stretched his arms out, followed by his fingers before he cracked his knuckles loudly and laid his fingers against the ancient ivory keys of the organ. 

It was a bit cliche, he knew, but he loved this piece of music. 

Frost looked up from trying to find Joker’s goggles just as the first notes of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor drifted through the sanctuary. Frost frowned. Joker usually reserved that particular piece of music for when something deeply vexed him. Frost had to wonder what had upset Joker so much that he had chosen Bach. 

Eyes closed, Joker let the process of playing the music wash over him. The loud haunting sounds of the pipe organ filled the church, disturbing some of the sleeping birds in the rafters. What was he going to do about Harley? He asked himself because he still needed her parents' lab and the information inside. (Maybe, he hadn’t decided if he still wanted to pursue this cure anymore.) He had already determined that he couldn’t kill her, as convenient as that particular solution would be. 

He just didn’t understand what he was feeling for her. He knew what sexual urges were--he wasn’t an ignorant fool--but he had never experienced them to his knowledge, for himself. Yet this beautiful, intelligent blonde comes waltzing into his life and suddenly his mouth on her breasts or his shaft buried inside her was all he could think about. What made the sexual urges even worse for him were the other thoughts of what he wanted from her...to spend time with her, to talk with her, to just fucking be near her!! 

He just wanted to hold her, to have her with him, to hear her voice, to have her belong to him... 

What kind of sappy nonsense was this??!! 

He slammed his fingers down on the keys causing the organ to cry out before he took another breath and continued to play a little calmer. 

Now there was another issue besides his strange attraction to Harley Quinzel--that thing with the face of Harley’s father. Joker couldn’t be sure after only a few tense moments with the creature, but he suspected that it wasn’t, in fact, the ghost of Mr. Quinzel. 

If it wasn’t a ghost, then what was it and why had it been after Harley? 

Pressing his lips together, Joker leaned in to the music. He should just forget about her, forget the lab, and stay away from Harley Quinzel, but just as he thought that would be the best idea for him, his next thoughts were that he should follow her tomorrow. 

She needed protection. He should protect her...at least until he figured out what was going on with him and the ghost...or he got her into his bed. A small smile touched his red lips at the thought of Harley in his bed, her blonde hair messy, her lips swollen...naked… 

He groaned and put more force back into playing. 

Whatever was happening to him regarding that woman needed to stop, one way or another. 

* 

Joker muttered to himself in the back seat of the car while Frost drove today. The pale man was dressed in a black and purple checkered tailcoat, with a black vest and white shirt, purple and black checkered tie held in place with a silver pin. Even his shoes were purple and black. He had on a purple top hat over his green hair, and wore his goggles over his blue eyes. Frost glanced in the rearview. His boss had been muttering all night, all morning, and now he was sitting with one foot resting on his knee, bouncing his leg in agitation. Joker hadn’t said specifically what was bothering him, but the majordomo pieced together from Joker’s mutterings that it had something to do with the Quinzel’s daughter Harleen, which was an interesting twist. He had never seen his boss have this sort of reaction to someone.

Joker had liked and respected the Quinzels and he was obsessed with messing with the Batman who roamed the streets of Gotham doing good with his fists, and Frost liked to think that Joker was attached to him. He knew his boss trusted him, but this reaction to Harleen Quinzel was completely new. Frost felt sure the boss was attracted to the woman. Frost allowed himself a little smile. This was going to be interesting, as long as Joker didn’t decide to solve his issue with the young woman by killing her; Joker often said that so many problems could be solved with violence. Pursing his lips, Frost decided he would encourage Joker not to do that. He thought the boss could use some female company, maybe something more. Who knew? 

Frost knew Joker felt alone, so maybe it was time for his boss to change that. 

On Joker’s lap sat a shoe box filled with black candles, candles he had stayed up all night making. The candles were infused with silver, a little garlic, white heather, some white rose and salt--lots of salt--for protection. Joker had felt compelled last night to make the candles for Harley along with instructions for her to burn one by each entry into her home. They contained some strong enchantments, but because he had no idea what he was dealing with Joker could only make the candles vague in their protection, but it was something... 

Then he was going to follow her. He told himself again that he wasn't stalking her, but was simply protecting her…and trying to work out his weird feelings about her. 

It had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to be near her or anything so stupid. 

At least that was what he kept telling himself. 

Frost parked the car down the street a few blocks from the Quinzel house at Joker’s request. 

Joker exited the car, his box in his arms, his charm secured on his coat lapel making him particularly unnoticed and all but invisible to anyone on the street (except Frost). With a glance back at Frost, Joker grinned and tipped his hat before he hurried down to the street. 

Frost watched him go with a shake of his head thinking how Joker could be a murderous maniac one moment, then act like a smitten teenager then next. Working for the man was always interesting. 

* 

Slipping to the front of the Quinzel house on silent feet, Joker set the box in front of her door, sliding a note out from an inside jacket pocket to slide under the purple ribbon he had wrapped around the box before he slipped off to hide in the bushes near the porch and wait. 

He felt a little stupid, but whatever, he thought with a sour face at himself. He pulled out a silver cigarette case and popped it open to remove a cigarette. Once it was between his lips, the silver case once more disappearing into an inner pocket of his jacket, Joker lit it with a snap of his fingers and he settled in to wait, at the same time reassuring himself that he was acting perfectly reasonably and not behaving like...well...like whatever, he didn’t know. 

With a sour expression settled on his face, Joker smoked his cigarette and waited. 

* 

The next morning Harleen woke up feeling rough, with a pounding headache and the wound on her shoulder still ached with cold though it had eased some from last night. Nothing else had disturbed her sleep except for her dreams in which she was standing in front of Joker, lifting his goggles off his face, her heart pounding, a burning desire in her stomach as he pulled her closer at the same time, his lips parted for a kiss. 

Today she chose to wear a simple dress with a dropped waist, scoop necke-line of silk crepe-de-chine with ivory silk looped fringe in the skirt, as well as along the edge of the simple jacket she wore over the top. She opted for a wide brimmed black hat and black t-strap heels. She wasn't in the mood to mess with her hair, so she pulled the blonde locks back and used a silver clip to hold her hair at the nape of her neck. 

Breakfast consisted of coffee and a croissant--leftovers from the wake--before she called a car to pick her up. 

Half an hour later her car arrived and Harleen hurried to the door. The sky outside was a solid light grey, and the air felt decidedly chilly. She opened her front door while slipping on her coat and she almost stumbled over a box that lay in front of the door. Frowning, she looked down to see that the package was roughly the size of a shoebox and wrapped in black paper and purple ribbon. 

She reached down and picked the box up; it was surprisingly heavy. There was a note on purple paper tucked under the ribbon. She pulled it free and flipped the note over. 

“My dear Harley, here are some candles for protection. Made them myself. Just burn one at any opening into the house and it should ward off most things. I’ll drop by the lab tonight, I'll try not to wake you sleeping beauty. Love, J.” 

“Sleeping Beauty?” Harleen giggled, a light pink blush on her cheeks. “Love?” she said the word aloud, the pink flush on her cheeks deepening to a redder hue. (In the bushes, Joker rolled his eyes. Why had he written love? Idiot! Should have written something like...lots of laughs, or keep smiling, or anything but ‘love.’ Blah, he though with a quiet groan of annoyance.) 

Harley smiled, using a finger to tear open the wrapping and view the contents of the box which held over two dozen black candles inside. She smiled and turned to set the box and note just inside the house the door. 

“That was sweet,” she said to herself smiling before she turned, closing the door, and headed out to the cabby that was waiting for her. 

Joker grinned, watching her head to the cab. “I’m sweet. Hehe…” 

* 

The driver was an elderly man with a quick smile and bright grey eyes. “Where to Miss?” he asked as she slipped into the back of the car, wrapped in her black winter coat. 

“I would like to go to Tierney Street,” Harleen said as she settled into her seat. 

The man looked at her in his rearview. “Tierney Street? You sure Ma’am? That’s not in a great part of town.” 

Harleen met his eyes over the top of her glasses. “Yes.” 

The man frowned, but nodded and shrugged. “All right…” 

* 

Once Harley was in the cab and it pulled away, Joker popped up from the bushes. Putting his hand on his head to keep his hat on, he took off like a shot, stumbling out of the bushes then running from the yard to the sidewalk. He dashed down the concrete to where Frost sat in the parked car reading. Frost glanced up from his book (his own charm on his lapel helped him see Joker) and saw his boss motioning like a maniac at him with one hand while he held his hat down on his head with the other, running comically like the bats of hell were after him. Frost frowned followed by a snorted laugh, but he started the vehicle just as Joker came up on him. Joker yanked the door open, throwing himself in the back. 

“Harley just left in a taxi!! I need you to follow them now!” Breathless, waving a hand at Frost, Joker pushed himself up, his hat having fallen off when he dumped himself into the car, causing his green hair to stick up in a riot of curls. 

Frost hit the gas, grinning. “On it Boss.” 

* 

Tierney Street was located near the Bowery, though not right in the area, skirting the unsavory area of Gotham City, which allowed it to be accessible to more “normal” types and tourists who got to feel like they were living dangerously without actually stepping foot into Gotham’s notoriously haunted Bowery area. The shops that lined the street ran the gamut of simple herbalist stores, to tarot readers, crystal and rock shops, and full time professional witches, alchemists, shaman, and sorcerers. 

Whatever you wanted in magic, was available on Tierney Street. 

Harleen had grown up shopping in this area with her parents. This street was known to have some of the freshest alchemical and witchcraft ingredients available, as well as experts in any and all fields of magic. If she was going to find a spiritualist to help her, it would be here. The shop windows were filled with all sorts of beautiful items, from crystals, to witchboards, to mysterious looking gadgets, some that worked with magic, others that worked by mechanical genius. Here on Tierney Street one could find a strange crossroads between magic and technology. 

Some of the businesses had holographic signs above their stores advertising their wares while some had simple neon signs, and a few had just plain metal signs which stood out from the others because of how old fashioned they looked. While most of the shops here dealt with magic, there were one or two that sold things such as tech, phones, and other gadgets. 

And one of two that sold more “tourist” like items such as t-shirts and Gotham snow globes. 

Except, as Harleen started to walk down the street, gazing at all of the shops, she realized she had no idea where to even begin her search for a spiritualist. 

She could simply wander the streets here until she stumbled upon one, she could have accessed her mobile phone except she had left the thing off and forgotten in her suitcase the moment she had left her home for Gotham, not wanting to speak to anyone. She had been content to use the landline she knew her parents had at their home, and she needed to get out, away from the house for a little while. The guilt she felt being without her parents, of living in their house, surrounded by their memories, and after last night… 

She had needed the fresh air. 

Looking around, Harleen pressed her lips together. Maybe she should ask for some help from someone? 

Harleen stopped and looked around, her eyes landing on the sign hanging above a shop door just a little ways down from where she was standing. The sign was made of wood, expertly carved to seem as if the sign had been wrapped in vines with brightly blooming flowers. The wood was polished to a high shine making the flowers sparkle in the grey morning light. 

The sign read: Ivy’s Plants and Herbs. 

Pressing her lips together, not sure why, Harleen felt compelled to start her search for a spiritualist there, though she thought it might have more to do with the beautifully rendered, old fashion sign than anything else. 

Moving at a crisp pace, Harleen made her way down to the shop. 

* 

Joker hovered behind her, panting from racing to catch up to her once he had spotted her on the sidewalk. After nearly causing Frost to have an accident when he had grabbed his friend around the neck and yelled in his ear, “THERE SHE IS!” and pointing like a mad man...which Frost supposed Joker thought was perfectly acceptable behavior. 

Joker leaned one hand against the front of a building, panting and watching Harley. She looked so beautiful this morning, all in black, her blonde hair like a golden ribbon behind her, though her outfit needed some color, maybe a little white or maybe some red to highlight her lips. He felt that flush of warmth that raced straight through his body at the thought of her lips, which led him to thinking about her graceful throat...and lower. 

Joker just barely stopped himself from groaning out loud. Damn whatever this was that she was making him feel! 

He started to move again in order to keep up with her when he saw Harley turn and head into a shop. His mouth dropped open when he saw the sign above: Ivy’s Plants and Herbs. 

“Oh no, not that red headed witch’s place!” Joker moaned. “For all the places she could have gone into she had to pick the toxic weed’s place!” 

Joker rolled his eyes dramatically. “Talk about a rose with thorns... “ He started to follow, stopping to look in the window of the shop. “...really long, pointy, ugly thorns…” he muttered.


	5. Meetings

The first thing that Harleen noticed about Ivy’s Plants and Herbs was the smell. The place, from the moment she opened the door and walked in, smelled heavenly with its mix of flowers, plants, herbs, and something else that Harleen couldn't place, but the combined scents combined to calm her. 

It only took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, which consisted of several magical balls of light that floated near the ceiling giving off a light green glow to the entire place which made Harleen think of greenhouses or night gardens. As her eyes adjusted and she was able to look around, Harleen sucked in a breath. The place looked magnificent! 

The ceiling, painted a dark, midnight blue and dotted with silver stars, was lined with what looked to be hundreds of dried herbs and flowers hanging from thick, dark wooden beams. The walls of the shop were painted a deep forest green and were lined with shelves of the same shade of dark wood as the beams overhead. The shelves ran the length of the walls and each shelf contained dozens of rows of glass jars filled with all sorts of pickled...things that Harleen couldn't recognize unless she wanted to take a closer look; otherwise, all she could make out were dark shapes floating in liquid. She also saw jars filled with seeds and other dried herbs in colors that ranged from dark greens to the lightest shade of grey, reminding Harleen of the fog that rolled into Gotham on cool nights. 

There was a long, worn wooden table that ran almost the length of the room, positioned in the center that held bowls of dried flower petals in a variety of colors along with tiny glass jars and bottles in a variety of shapes and colors. Each container held the essence of a different fragrance, from roses to lilies to hydrangeas along with scents like vanilla, sandalwood, and myrrh. There were long sticks of incense for sale and candles in every shape and colors one could possibly want. 

As Harleen looked around, moving slowly and trying to take everything in, she saw another room to her left where she saw rows and rows of books, and she thought she caught a scent of coffee drifting through the doorway. Yet another room on her right held the largest collection of polished rocks and crystals that Harleen had ever seen collected in one location. She could wander lost in this place for hours and enjoy every moment of it. 

As Harleen moved through the store she could see pieces of artwork, sculptures (nearly all the sculptures were of women in various shapes and poses), small paintings, richly colored scarves and shawls. Every other space was filled with plants, sticking out here and there or hanging from the ceiling. Some were large leafy plants while others were flowering vines that crept along the walls. There were so many plants that Harleen couldn’t tell where some began and others ended. She had never seen so many flowers growing inside a room that wasn’t a greenhouse. 

Right now there wasn’t anyone inside the shop except for a woman in the very back, who was working behind a dark wood and glass display case. The woman looked exquisite, probably the most beautiful woman Harleen had ever seen. She was tall and voluptuous with thick long, red hair that was the color of rose petals and fell to her waist in simple waves that somehow looked styled to be that way while at the same time looking completely natural with no styling at all. The woman wore a dark green Jezebel pencil dress that clung to her finger like a second skin. The dress was styled with a little stand collar that had a decorative button and three raindrop peek-a-boo cutouts that spread out from the button like the petals of a flower. The sleeves of the dress were pleated half-length puff sleeves. The dress flowed down the woman’s curvy body and into the sexy mermaid-style pencil skirt, making the woman look like walking sex. 

Harleen thought she should feel jealous; the woman outclassed her in every department, but when the woman smiled at her Harleen only felt welcomed. 

“Welcome to Ivy’s Plants and Herbs--I’m Ivy.” The woman smiled and tilted her head. “You look familiar.” 

Harleen smiled as she walked across the room and held her gloved hand out. “Harleen Quinzel.” 

Ivy smiled. “Harleen Quinzel…” She took Harleen’s hand, then gasped. “Oh...Oh you’re the daughter of The Quinzels! The alchemists!” 

Harleen nodded, taking her hand back as a shadow of pain drifting across her eyes yet the shadow couldn’t hide her surprise that this Ivy person knew about her parents. “Yes, yes I am.” 

“Oh I’m so sorry.” Ivy hurried from around her counter and pulled Harleen into an embrace the shorter woman wasn’t expecting. Harleen didn’t move, her eyes wide, but Ivy didn’t notice as she stood back and held Harleen at arms length giving her a sympathetic smile. 

“I knew your parents, not well, but they came into my shop several times and I’ve helped them acquire hard to find ingredients over the years. They talked about you often.” 

“Oh.” Harleen felt a little strange and uncomfortable. Here was someone once again who knew her parents and knew of her, while she had no idea who they were. It felt disconcerting. She was beginning to wonder about her parents’ personal life as she realized she really didn’t know much about her parents as people. 

How many people did they actually know? 

And what were the chances she would stumble across someone in her search for a spiritualist who would know her parents, but in the same thought Harleen sighed. Actually those odds were not that high. She could easily see her parents being attracted to a shop like Ivy’s and her parents, especially her mother, were talkative people. Making friends had never been an issue for her mother, and her father had always followed her mother’s lead. 

Harleen turned her attention back to Ivy. 

Ivy smiled and let her go to step back around the counter. “Let me finish putting together this healing bag and we can go into the back and have some tea. I’m assuming you’re here because you need some help?” Ivy started to return to mixing ingredients. Now that Harleen was closer she could see what the other woman was doing. There was a small leather pouch with a drawstring and several bowls of dried herbs along with a single clear crystal and a few other odds and ends that Ivy was combining into the bag. 

“Ah, yes…” Harleen agreed, but said no more. 

Ivy looked up quirking a red brow at the other woman, but asked no more questions. She quickly finished what she was doing, tied the bag off and turned to set in on the shelf behind her. 

“Now, if you’ll just follow me into the back, we can talk.” Ivy smiled walking around the counter, and headed the room with all the books. Harleen followed her, feeling a hint nervous. 

* 

Outside, looking a bit like a crazy person, standing on his toes, Joker had pressed his face to the glass to look inside the shop. It was hard to see, he thought in irritation, with the lack of electrical lights and all the damn plants. He saw movement and noticed Harley moving toward the back. For a moment his breath was taken away as he gazed at her. Harley looked as beautiful as ever. He sighed, thinking he must seem like a lost puppy, but that emotion was soon squashed when he saw the other women in the shop...there she was...that redheaded witch, Poison Ivy he thought with distaste. 

He wrinkled his nose as if had he smelled something foul. 

He and Ivy had butted heads many times over...well everything. They had never been actively out to get each other, more like a sibling rivalry than out to murder each other, but Joker didn’t want Ivy to get her thorns into Harley. He realized he was afraid Ivy would turn Harley against him. He wasn’t sure what he would do if the redhead did, but that might be the straw that broke the camel's back and turned their rivalry into something more serious. 

After a bit, he saw the two women move off...he tried to follow, but the window didn’t extend into the next room and the room they had gone into didn’t have any windows. 

Joker stamped his foot. “Son-of-a-monkey!” 

* 

Ivy led Harleen through the room full of books and into a smaller room painted in warm amber that held even more plants (if possible) than the front room. In here there was an ancient looking stove, and all the other accoutrements of a typical kitchen, but with the added shelves that contained more dried herbs, and bottles of liquids in swirling, iridescent colors. Harleen also noted a small wooden table with a worn surface and two chairs. 

“Have a seat,” Ivy said. “I’ll get the kettle on for tea. Would you like some cakes? I have some fresh petit fours that I purchased just this morning from “Pie in the Sky” just down the street from here. They have some of the best cakes and cookies.” Ivy stopped from where she was filling the kettle with water to look over at Harleen. “You’re not vegan are you?” 

“Ah, no,” Harleen replied which caused Ivy to smile brightly. “Oh good. Anyway, they are delicious, you’ll love them!” 

“Thank you,” Harleen said softly looking around while Ivy put the kettle on and pulled out two mugs, both white with delicate blue flowers painted on them. “I have earl grey, chamomile. Mm...let’s see, some english breakfast…” Ivy stood on her toes in the nice matching heels that she wore, looking into the cabinet, but Harleen smiled and waved her hand. “Oh earl grey is fine.” 

Ivy looked over her shoulder at the other woman. “You sure?” 

Harleen nodded. “Yes.” 

Ivy smiled and pulled out the box of earl grey, dropped a tea bag into each cup and wrapped the string around the handles before she set about getting out a sugar bowl, a small pitcher of milk, and the cakes. By the time she had finished this little task, the water was boiling. Ivy poured the water into the cups, dropping a spoon into each before carrying them over to the table. 

“Now…” Ivy smoothed her dress down behind her before she sat. “What can I help you with? Is this something to do with your parents?” 

Harleen put two teaspoons of sugar and some milk into her tea. “Well, I...I honestly just picked your shop at random, I had no idea you knew my parents…” Harleen watched her spoon as she gently turned it, mixing up the sugar and milk. “I’m looking for a spiritualist, but I have no idea where to start, so I thought I would just walk into a shop and ask for help. You were the shop I picked.” Harleen looked up and shrugged. 

Ivy laughed. “Oh, well isn’t that serendipitous!” She tilted her head. “I suppose I should give you a proper introduction then. My name is Pamela Isly, but my friends and enemies call me Poison Ivy, or just Ivy.” She smiled and held her hand out. “Pleased to meet you.” 

Harleen giggleed and took the other woman’s hand. “Harleen Quinzel. I’s a pleasure.” 

Ivy smiled and lifted her mug to take a sip of her tea. “Sorry I couldn’t be at your parents funeral or the wake. I don’t know if you saw it, but I’m the one that sent the rose display.” 

Harleen frowned for a moment, then smiled. “The one with the black roses?” 

Ivy nodded. “Yes, that was me. Your mother always admired my black roses so while black was a little on the nose for a funeral, they were sent for your mother and because she loved them.” 

“Thank you.” Harleen smiled and sniffed. Talking about her mother made her chest hurt. 

Ivy frowned, reaching out to lay her hand against Harleen’s arm. “It’s okay.” 

Harleen gave her a shaky smile. “Thank you.” 

Ivy smiled back and squeezed Harleen’s arm gently before pulling her hand back. “So, what exactly can I help you with?” 

Harleen took a deep breath through her nose, slowly turning her tea cup between her hands “I...I was visited by the spirit of my father last night.” 

Ivy sat up straight and blinked in shock. “What?” 

Harleen nodded looking grim. “Last night...my father...” She took a sip of the tea before she spoke again. “He didn’t look right and he said I was to blame for his death. I need a spiritualist to help me...contact him.” 

Ivy pressed her lips together. Ghosts and spirits of the restless dead were not unheard of, but Ivy didn’t see Mr. Quinzel was the type to haunt his daughter, and by the way Harleen had gone pale when she spoke of it, the haunting must have been terrifying. But what did she know, ghosts and spirits were not her speciality. 

Ivy took a sip of her tea in thought before she murmured. “I might know someone...they are very good at what they do, but…” She pursed her lips and reached for one of the petite fours to set it in front of Harleen before picking up one for herself. “His name is James Corrigan, he’s ex-Gotham PD. He is one of the best, but…” Her eyes held concern as she looked up at Harleen. “...he does have a drug problem, although I’ve never seen him let it interfere with his work. Of all the spiritualists working, I know he is the real thing.” 

Harleen frowned, picking up the little cake and took a bite. It tasted very good. 

“He has a drug problem?” Harleen asked and Ivy nodded. 

“It’s not really my place to talk about it, but he had a few things happen to him in the field, dealing with the dead…” She sighed. “He’s a good man--broken, but good. If anyone can help you, I believe it’s James.” Ivy stood up and pulled open a drawer from a cabinet nearby. Harleen watched the other as she rummaged around in it for a few minutes before she came up with something. 

She turned and handed the object to Harleen; it was a rumpled business card. 

“That’s his number. He doesn’t always answer, but he does check his messages. You should give him a call.” Ivy sat back down with a smile. “I’m not sure how long it’ll take you to reach him, but in the meanwhile I can maybe help you with some protection magics.” Ivy sat up a little straighter. “I’m one of the best herbalists in Gotham and my amulets are some of the best.” 

“Ah...well, thank you,” Harleen said looking down at the card. 

* 

Joker had to nearly throw himself into some bushes to avoid being seen outside when Harleen finally left Ivy’s place. He crouched down watching her as she quickly walked away from the shop. He debated following her, but then decided he needed to know why she had gone to see Ivy. Hopefully she was going home and he would catch up with her later. 

Joker watched her go through the colored lenses of his goggles and nearly sagged with relief when she hailed a cab. She had to be going home then, good. He waited until she had gotten into the cab before he opened the door and slipped into Ivy’s shop. 

The moment he entered, the door closing behind him, Joker sneezed loudly. 

Ivy came hurrying in from the other room. “Sorry, how can I…” She stopped dead when she saw Joker standing in her shop. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at the green-hair psychotic. 

Joker pulled his top hat off and gave her a mocking bow. “Hello Ivy.” 

Ivy wrinkled her nose in annoyance at him. “So, what do you want?” 

“I wanted to ask you a question or two.” Joker started to walk around the shop, touching objects, everything. He knew that annoyed Ivy to distraction, which was why he did it. He picked up jars and put them back in the wrong spot or ran his gloved fingers through the bowls of dried herbs even though stirring those awful things up made his nose itch. 

Ivy crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. While Joker irritated the life out of her, she didn’t really dislike him exactly. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was like having an annoying brother which always tempered her response to the clown. She sensed the man had a tragic backstory that even he didn’t know, and that made her feel sorry for him, though she would never tell him that, ever. 

“Harleen Quinzel was just in here correct?” Joker picked up a jar from one of the shelves and held it up to the green orbs of light. He couldn’t be certain, but it looked like a pickled pig's feet. 

“How did you know?” Ivy asked, watching him closely. Every time he picked something up her skin tightened, as if waiting for him to drop something. 

“Don’t worry about that. Why did she come here?” Joker asked picking up another jar; this one definitely had eyeballs in it. He grinned, turning the jar around and waved his fingers at the eyes inside. 

“I don’t think that is any of your business Joker.” Ivy narrowed her eyes at him. 

Joker frowned, his red lips bright in the dim light. “I’m only trying to help her.” 

Ivy tilted her head and asked, her expression clearly incredulous, “What?” 

Joker frowned again and for a moment Ivy was sure the clown looked confused, truly and utterly confused. “I...want to help her. I think she’s in trouble.” 

“Why do you think that?” Ivy asked, watching him closely. The Joker was acting in an odd manner--even for him--which made her wonder if Harleen had some sort of hold on the man. She kept her smirk in check. Was the Joker twitterpated by the pretty young woman? She was going to go out on a limb and say yes. She felt both amused and a little amazed. Joker did not form a lot of relationships. He was neither the type of person who had friends, nor had she ever heard of him in connection to an intimate relationship. That made her wonder, were these feelings new to him? 

Joker put the jar of eyes back and picked up one of the naked female goddess statues off the shelf. “Because her brother is a cunt. Her parents cut him out of the will and left everything to Harley...” Joker replied as he ran his fingers over the little statue. “...and last night something with her father’s face attacked her.” 

Ivy lifted her red brows in surprise. “How do you know that?” 

“I was there.” Joker caressed the statue, his fingers tracing the breasts, but his mind was on Harley. He could see her figure under his fingertips, the little statue transformed into the gorgeous blonde. He swallowed hard and quickly put the statue back before turning his attention to Ivy. “Her parents left me their lab, I was there in the lab when it happened.” 

Ivy looked surprised. “You were in the Quinzel 's will?” 

Joker smiled and wiggled his fingers along the sides of his head. “Surprise! Yes…” 

“Was it her father, the ghost I mean?” Ivy asked with a frown, but Joker shrugged. “Not sure. It looked like him, but…” He gestured with his hands up in the air. “Didn’t act like him, though I’m not really sure how someone’s supposed to act after they die.” 

Ivy frowned in thought before she replied. “She just picked my shop on a whim, didn’t know I knew her parents.” Ivy studied Joker as she said softly, “She was looking for a spiritualist and thought I might know someone.” 

“Do you?” Joker asked while very delicately stroking the leaf of one of her plants making Ivy tense, but in the next instant he dropped the leaf. 

“I gave her James Corrigan’s card,” Ivy replied. 

Joker hissed in response. “Jamie? Really? That was the best you could come up with?” 

Ivy gave him a dirty look. “James is the best spiritualist in Gotham even if he is a drug addict.” 

Joker made a face followed by another shrug. “Yeah...I suppose...and we all have our vices.” He spoke softly with just an edge to the sound which was enough to make goosebumps race up Ivy’s back. She knew the stories about Joker, the whispers about the things he had done, which made her wonder why on earth the Quinzel’s had included him in the will and not their own son. The Joker was not sane, but rather was dangerous. Still, she had to admit, though they didn’t exactly like each other, he had never actually done anything to her. They both had a grudging respect for each other. 

Ivy frowned studying Joker as he wandered her shop and kept touching things. Him being worried about this young woman was strange and interesting. “I gave her one of my amulets. It’s not very powerful since I wasn’t sure what she needed exactly, and she didn’t want something that would banish her father...since it’s her father, or at least she thinks it’s her father, but the amulet is a protection charm. As long as she wears it she should be protected from spiritual attack. It won’t stop spirits from entering her home or menacing her, but they won’t be able to physically touch her at least.” 

Joker looked up at her from where he had been picking up bottles of ointment oils. Even through the lenses of his colored goggles Ivy could see his piercing blue eyes. Joker was surprisingly handsome even with his odd coloring, she idly thought. 

“Thank you,” he said with real sincerity in his voice, real enough that it frightened Ivy more than his usual manic and threatening behavior. 

“Ah, yes, of course,” Ivy replied. 

Joker suddenly moved, making Ivy jump as he rushed toward the door where he stopped with his hand on the handle and turned. He opened his mouth to say something to her, but he clearly wasn’t sure what that was because his mouth snapped shut and he turned around and shoved himself through the door, leaving Ivy to her plants. 

She shook her head. “Something weird is going on in Gotham,” she muttered to herself. “And I think that weirdness might be that the Joker is in love.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Need to tell Alec about this…” 

* 

Early that evening, Gregory found himself summoned by Circe after he had sent several messages demanding to know what was going on with his sister. He had seen Harleen leave that morning by cab and she seemed fine. Circe was supposed to send something to scare his sister out of the house, and clearly it hadn’t worked! For the price he was paying, a favor from him was very valuable, he wanted instant results and he wanted them instantly! 

Circe had ignored him all day, but finally he had received a request for his presence, not a phone call or a text. She had sent a young woman, a sexy little thing with large amber eyes wearing a scandalously sexy costume to deliver the message. Gregory had tried to get her to come inside, but the little thing simply winked at him and gave him the card from Circe. 

He had thought about refusing her invitation. He was paying her after all; he should be the one doing the summoning! But he had found himself feeling a bit unsure of his position, so now he found himself dressed in one of his finest suits, a lemon yellow suit with a dark grey vest and gold buttons. The suit had cost him a pretty penny, but the yellow made his hair and eyes pop he thought with a smug grin. He had on a straw hat, and had even stopped to grab a bouquet of red roses. No reason he couldn’t keep trying to mix business with pleasure. While he wasn’t ashamed to admit Circe scared him a little, he was also willing to bet real money that she was an animal in bed. 

This time Circe wasn’t meeting him at her place of business. Rather, she had invited him to her home. Gregory wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not, but ever confident, he decided it was good. Maybe she wanted to mix business and pleasure too? He could only hope. 

Circe lived in a rather run down looking apartment building, he discovered. The door to her apartment had peeling paint and the hallway smelled like smoke, urine, and vomit. Gregory curled his lips. He would have thought she could live some place better… 

He tried not to breathe through his nose as he knocked on the door. He heard the sound of a latch coming open and the door popped open a crack. Gregory took that as an invitation and stepped through, quickly closing the door behind him hoping to cut off some of the smell. 

When the door clicked closed, Gregory found himself in complete darkness. He froze thinking to himself, ‘not again’ when several candles along the floor lit up and he found himself standing at the end of a long, dark purple hallway lined with a thick, purple carpet containing an ornate design woven into it with golden thread. The hall was also lined with several doors, all painted the same shade of dark purple, and one large ornate door, decorated with gold designs at the end of the hall. He swallowed, but there was no sound, no other signs, nothing indicating where he should go. Gregory assumed it was the door at the end of the hall. 

His footsteps made no sound as he walked. When he arrived at the door Gregory swallowed then reached up and knocked lightly on the door. 

“Enter.” He heard Circe’s voice on the other side of the door, her tone rich and sensual. 

Gregory took a deep breath through his nose and opened it. 

The room on the other side was filled with vibrant colors, like a rainbow had vomited everywhere. There were rugs lying across the floor and heaps of pillows, large and small, everywhere. In the middle of the room sat a dark wood kotatsu surrounded by more colorful pillows with designs from birds to Hmong-inspired floral designs. There was a large picture window with a window seat piled high with more pillows and blankets, the window decorated with strings of crystals, alternating with hanging planets in macrame holders. The entire room, which looked and felt much better than it should have, smelled of weed and incense. 

Circe reclined by the table, which was set with a Japanese tea set, wearing a purple kimono decorated in the same theme of birds and flowers. The top of the kimono hung open giving Gregory a tantalizing glimpse of her full breasts. 

“Ah, Gregory, have a seat and I’ll make us some tea,” Circe purred at him. “Oh, and be a dear and take your shoes off.” 

Gregory frowned, but he took his shoes off near the door before walking over to Circe. He handed her the flowers. “For you.” 

“Well aren’t you a dear.” Circe reached for the flowers at the same time calling out. “Melody dear!” 

A door opened in a wall that Gregory could have sworn had no door and another gorgeous woman with skin the color of caramel came out wearing a bikini. She smiled at Gregory and took the flowers from Circe before disappearing back through the same door that closed and blended with the wall as if it had never been there at all. 

“So, Gregory--you wanted to see me?” Circe sat up, the kimono she wore falling off one shoulder. A shot of heat race straight to Gregory’s groin, but Circe simply began to make tea as Gregory moved a pillow over and slowly sank down cross legged on the floor. He felt foolish and he didn’t like the way the suit pulled since he was sitting cross-legged. He removed his hat and placed it on a cushion beside him. 

“Yes, I saw my sister this morning...She seemed fine,” Gregory said, sounding every so slightly like a petulant child. 

Circe frowned, her focus still on making tea. “Really?” 

“Yes. I thought you were going to drive her crazy?” Gregory groused and folded his arms over his chest. 

“You know someone isn't driven crazy in one night don’t you?” Circe looked up from her tea with one elegant brow lifted at him. Gregory felt that hot flash of desire race straight to his groin again. 

He frowned. “I know but...she seemed perfectly fine.” 

Circe nodded, picking up the bamboo whisk and mixed the tea. “Well, she has set up some minor protections around the house, I felt them earlier, nothing solid, but effective.” She glanced up and Gregory felt a shiver down his spine as Circe blinked her large, luminous eyes at him. “If you want to speed this up, I suppose I could step up my assault with something more...frightening than the ghost of her father, something much harder for her to protect against.” 

Gregory sat up straighter and leaned forward, eager to hear what she said, but also to get a better look at her cleavage. “Like what?” 

Circe smiled and handed the cup of tea she had just finished preparing to Gregory. He vaguely noted the liquid inside was a frothy green. “Have you heard of ghouls?” she asked. 

Gregory frowned for a moment before he nodded, taking the cup. “Yeah, heard some gangsters used some ghouls during a turf war, but that was years ago, before my time.” 

Circe smiled while she made her cup of tea. “Yes. Ghouls were far more common years ago, but there has been a strict law against them in the confines of the city. There hasn’t been one inside the Gotham City limits in decades. Some people here have never seen one. I thought a ghoul might be more along the lines of what you want. I can send one in to terrorize her, maybe even hurt her, but then leave no evidence except her word.” Circe smiled slowly looking up from her tea making. “I doubt anyone would believe her if she said a ghoul attacked her.” 

Gregory frowned, sipping his tea and making a face before he set the cup down. “You can do that?” he asked to which Circe laughed. 

“Oh my dear, I can do that and much, much more,” she purred at him, moving in such a way that her kimono fell a little further down her shoulders. 

Gregory stared and swallowed before he nodded. “Yeah, yes...I mean yes. Do that.” 

Circe grinned wickedly as she set her tools aside and picked up her tea. “I’ll need a couple of things from you in order to call up a ghoul.” 

Frowning, Gregory leaned back just a fraction. “You do?” 

She nodded sipping her tea. “Yes. I need some blood and some semen.” 

“WHAT? Why???!” Gregory looked appalled, but Circe only smiled at him setting her cup down. “You want this ghoul to go after your sister, correct? Well, I need to give it something, a familial link…” Circe purred, but Gregory looked a little pale. 

“But why both?” he asked. 

“You want the connection to be strong.” She leaned forward, her kimono falling open slightly giving Gregory a perfect view of her cleavage and the promise of seeing her perfect breasts. “Don’t you trust me?” she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper. 

Gregory had lost some of the line of conversation at the sight of her breasts, but he looked up and smiled like a snake. “How are you going to get the samples?” he inquired. 

Circe’s hand moved with lightning speed. Her hand shot out and she grabbed his arm, yanking the limb across the table showing surprising strength. A knife seemed to materialize in her other hand, a small thing with a needle-like point. She jabbed the point into the middle of his palm. Gregory yelped and tried to yank his hand back, but he couldn’t break Circe’s firm grip. She held his now bleeding hand out over one of the tea saucers. His blood dripped from his hand, thick and red to pool at the bottom of the saucer before she picked up a napkin and wadded it against the wound letting him have his hand back. 

“That hurt dammit!” Gregory growled. 

“Well I promise, the next part won’t.” Circe giggled softly. 

“Are you going to extract the semen?” he asked hopefully his head spinning with the possibilities, but Circe laughed shaking her head. “No no, you’re not ready for me yet…” she purred, licking her lips and making Gregory shiver. “But...” She clapped her hand. This time the girl she had called from before appeared but in the company of another young woman, just as beautiful with creamy skin, large green eyes, and a head of dark red hair. 

“Girls, please take Gregory here and extract some semen for me.” Circe smiled at them. 

The girls giggled coming over to take Gregory by his arms and lifted him to his feet. Gregory was grinning from ear to ear. 

Circe watched him disappear with her girls, a smug look on her face. “Fool,” she muttered after they disappeared through the door, shaking her head as she stood up. She made her way over to a table hidden behind a curtain of beads and picked up a stick of chalk that lay on the desk. She reached behind it to pick up a jar that sat on the back of the desk and walked over to the table where she pushed the tea service out of the way. She drew a circle on the table, then carefully wrote specific symbols along the edge of the circle before she set the chalk aside. Circe opened up the jar and reached inside, pulling out a decayed finger that she set in the middle of the circle. 

Smiling, Circe set the jar aside and held her hands over the circle and finger. She closed her eyes and murmured, words that most humans had never heard. After a few seconds of her chanting, the air in the room became thicker, pressure pushed down on her shoulders and the smell of decay began to fill the air around her. The symbols on the table suddenly came to life, glowing with an eerie green luminescence and a voice spoke from the center of the small circle. 

“Who summons me?” 

Circe smiled. “It’s me old friend. I have a job for you. “ 

“And what will you pay me for this job?” The voice, clearly male, asked with an amused hint in its tone. 

Circe grinned. “Well, let’s talk.” 

* 

Tonight, her blonde hair down and loose around her shoulders in thick waves, Harleen wore a simple drop waist, satin, peach colored nightgown that hung to her knees decorated with cream colored lace. The gown was trimmed with peach colored ribbons and some silk roses. Over the gown she wore a floor length lace and silk robe, given to her by her mother, with accordion pleated sleeves, the shoulders decorated with rows of pearls and iridescent sequins gathered to look like flowers. Chantilly lace decorated the wrists and a small applique at the waist where the long silk ribbons tied the robe closed at an angle, which she had knotted tight around her. The slippers she wore were silk embroidery on wool with a linen and leather lining, and they made barely a sound a she moved through the house. Around her neck hung the amulet that Ivy had given her, a small pouch on a leather thong. She could feel the stone in the little pouch heavy against her chest, it’s presence making her feel better than she probably should, but at least tonight she was prepared, ready for the appearance of her father’s spirit. 

Maybe this time she could get through to him. 

But first things first--Harleen made her way to the kitchen. 

It took her a few minutes to find a tray, then to pull out plates and cups, to put a kettle on and pull out the tea bags. Over the next forty-five minutes Harleen put together a tray that held a pot of hot tea, a dish lined with cold cuts and slices of cheese left over from the wake and in the middle of the platter she put together, Harleen placed a small bowl of egg salad. She added crackers as well. Lastly she pulled out a small box that she had purchased from the bakery that Ivy had mentioned, inside of which were half a dozen petit fours. She set the little cakes on the tray before she carefully lifted the tray she had made and walked carefully to her destination. 

* 

Joker had debated with himself for the last few hours, walking back and forth through the church talking loudly to himself. 

“You should go!” 

“No, you shouldn’t because you’re stalking her!” 

“It’s for her own good!” 

“Is it? Is it really or are you just hoping to catch her in her nightgown again??!” 

“You know that isn’t the case!!” 

“Well you would like to see her breasts wouldn’t you?” 

“No I...okay yes I do...what of it??” 

Frost watched Joker talking to himself and tried not to sigh. He already knew they would be going to the Quinzel house because Joker wouldn’t be able to help himself. He was smitten with Miss Quinzel and Frost wasn’t sure he wanted to discourage Joker’s attraction. Joker wasn’t violent--in this case--just very attracted to the young woman and it was clear he had no idea how to handle the intensity of his attraction to Miss Quinzel. Frost hoped that perhaps this attraction could lead to...something. He understood that Joker wasn’t quite sane; he was hoping having someone important in Joker’s life besides a butler would help the man. He knew his relationship with the Quinzel’s had helped somewhat, perhaps a relationship with the daughter could do even more. Of course, the young woman would have to feel the same way. 

Frost crossed his fingers. 

“Fine!! I’m going!!” Joker yelled and spun around. “Frost, go get the car!! I’m going to shower and get dressed!” 

Frost smiled. “On it.” 

Joker stomped off, heading toward one of the back doors. Frost watched him go, pressing his lips together in a silent laugh at Joker’s frustration. 

* 

Frost pulled the car up to the curb across from the Quinzel house. Behind him Joker was vibrating with the need to jump out of the car. Frost looked back in the rearview. Tonight Joker had dressed in black slacks and a matching silk shirt with an elaborately embroidered purple vest and matching frock coat, pointed, purple dress shoes, and a fur-lined black cap, a purple top hat, and his ever present goggles. 

Joker looked back at Frost, their eyes meeting despite the goggles. “Do I look acceptable?” 

Frost smiled surprised at the lack of confidence momentarily evident in the other man’s voice. “You look fine.” 

Joker grinned at him. His lips were painted a dark blood red that stood out against his pale face as he slipped out of the door. “Of course I do,” he said cheerfully as he shut the door behind him. 

Frost watched Joker race across the street and disappear over the fence like a shadow. He sighed and settled back as he pulled out a book and a small flashlight. 

* 

Joker slipped silently through the house and up toward the lab, checking the windows and the doors to make sure Harley had used the candles he had given her. He smiled when he saw them lit here and there where he had told her, glad she had listened to him. He contemplated slipping up to her room, but just as quickly dismissed the idea muttering to himself. 

“Pervert.” 

He had just made his way up the stairs and turned to head to the lab when he stopped short. On the floor in front of the door to the lab with a tray of food and drink in front of her sat Harley. 

Joker felt his heart skip a beat when he saw her, sitting with a couple of candles lit around her, sipping tea from a cup and delicately eating what looked like cold cuts. He watched her as she rolled a piece of meat up and took a delicate bite. 

She turned and smiled when she saw him standing at the end of the hall. She chewed her bite and swallowed before she asked. “Hungry?” 

Joker stiffened. For a moment he thought about running back down the stairs and out to Frost, but he didn’t move. The candlelight made her hair glow like gold, and her skin glowed as well, smooth and silky in the light. He could see the shadow of her body through the thin fabric, but it was her smile that had his heart slamming inside his chest. 

She tilted her head and asked again. “Hungry? I have some old cuts, egg salad, and I bought these delightful little cakes…” 

Joker grinned and heard himself say, “Ah...sure.” Smooth, old boy, he thought wryly. 

He walked down the hall to her, stepping over to sit down cross from her. He sat down, crossing his long legs. 

Harley smiled at him and inclined her head. “Joker.” She said his name as a statement not a question and Joker chuckled. 

“That’s me...Harley.” 

Harley smiled, her cheeks rosy. She reached up and tucked a strand of her long hair behind her ear. The gesture made Joker want to reach across the space between them and brush his fingers through her hair or maybe to brush her soft cheek, or trace her lips. Instead he used his thumb to crack the knuckles of one hand. 

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you finally, in person, and not under such dangerous conditions,” she said softly, her stomach filled with butterflies. 

Joker removed his top hat and slowly lifted his goggles up onto the top of his head. 

Harleen watched him, her eyes widening. She could now really see the paleness of his skin, that his hair was a dark green and his eyes! His eyes were a startling shade of blue framed in dark, thick lashes along with his red, red lips. She wanted to reach over to touch his face, to run her fingers along the long, smooth, narrow lines of his jaw and the pointed slope of his nose, or through the thick waves of his green hair. The urge was so strong that Harley balled her hand into a fist at her side. 

“Nice to be seen I guess…” He tilted his head. “The way I look...doesn’t...freak you out?” He asked with a frown, but Harley shook her head. 

“No.” 

Joker chuckled. “You’re weird then.” 

Harley giggled blushing. “So I’ve been told.” 

He reached for the plate and grabbed up a thin slice of roast beef. “So...mm...You know I’m not very good at this, conversation that is…” he muttered, popping the rolled up beef into his mouth and chewing. “So...you’re an alchemist too?” he asked around his bite. 

Harley giggled again, picking up some cheese, the butterflies swooping and swirling in her stomach. “I’m not very good at this either--despite my job--and yes, I’m also a psychiatrist with a speciality in psychic surgery.” 

“OOoh psychic surgery!! One of my hobbies!” Joker beamed at her, his expression child-like with his excitement. Harley found that she liked his smile. 

“A hobby--what else do you do?” Harley asked while she poured him some tea, then handed him the cup as well as showing him the bowl of sugar cubes she had included and the milk on the tray. Harley watched while Joker added five cubes of sugar. “Oh a little of this and a little of that. I like to...dabble, that’s the word.” He grinned. “Of course, dabbling is how I ended up with my glorious skin tone…” He gestured at himself smiling at her, his eyes twinkling. “...at least I think...that’s what your parents thought, though I don’t have any firm idea myself. I just woke up like this, but I suppose an alchemical accident makes about as much sense as anything else.” 

“Interesting,” Harley said with a smile. She thought about mentioning looking through her parents’ journal, but decided not to. Not yet anyway. 

Joker grinned at her. “I’m very interesting, I suppose. You should come over and see my lab sometime.” He blinked then frowned. “Is that coming on too strong?” He smiled at her and rubbed his hands over his knees. “You know, you make me nervous, I’ve never felt nervous before--I don’t know if I like it or not.” 

Harley blushed and giggled looking down at her fingers. “You’re doing fine. You have a lab?” 

Joker nodded. “I do indeed.” 

Harley felt the butterflies dancing in her stomach still. So far she liked this strange man. He was handsome, handsome in a way she had never encountered before, his eyes were stunning in his pale ghost-white face, and he was funny. She didn’t meet a lot of funny men, men who smiled the way Joker smiled. Thinking of his smile, she liked it quite a bit. His teeth were a brilliant white, his lips a kissable red, and he was interesting in a strange way. 

“I would be very interested in seeing your lab.” Harley smiled then laughed softly when Joker’s grin brightened further before he gasped. 

“OH!! We should look at your parents lab together!! I bet you haven’t been in there for a long time!” Joker clapped his hands. “Oh this is going to be fun!” 

Harley giggled, and for the first time since the death of her parents, Harley felt something lovely. She felt...happy. 

Joker smiled and pulled one of his gloves off before he reached across the space and very lightly touched her cheek, his fingertips at the side of her mouth. Harley went still when he touched her, both of them staring at each other. 

Joker whispered. “I like your smile.” 

Harley was about to respond when they both heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. Both their heads snapped around at the sound. 

Joker glanced over at Harley lifting his green brows in question. Harley answered silently with a shake of her head. 

Joker was on his feet quickly, making no sound at all with Harley following suit. 

Just as they both got to their feet a voice drifted up the stairs to them. 

“Come out, come out Harleen Quinzel...I’ve come to play...” 

Joker looked over at Harley to see that she had gone pale, her skin almost drained of as much color as his own. 

He put a finger to his lips and Harley nodded just as they heard light footsteps creak on the stairs.


	6. Things that Go Bump

Joker motioned for Harley to come closer to him before he put his finger to his lips again. Understanding that she needed to be quiet, Harley crab-walked over to him until they were shoulder to shoulder and crouched near the wall. 

Joker's presence seemed to ooze power, but Harley also found that he made her feel safe; she felt a confidence and power from him that was palpable. 

Joker slowly pulled his goggles back down over his eyes before he glanced sideways at her. She could barely see his eyes behind his goggles. 

“Do you smell that?” He motioned at the air. 

Harley frowned, clearly not knowing what he was talking about, but she closed her eyes and sniffed. She didn’t catch the scent at first, but on a second sniff she caught it. There was a definite smell of something rotting, that sickly sweet smell of a rotten corpse teased the air, making her wonder if the scent would grow the closer she got to whatever had broken into her house. 

“What is that?” Harley asked in a whisper. She was doing her best to be brave, but she couldn’t quite keep a tremor from her voice. “I thought the salt and candles would keep things out?” 

Joker shrugged. “Ghosts and spirits sure, but something made of flesh and bone…” He smirked at her. “Completely different.” 

Harley made a sour face. 

They could both hear movement downstairs. Whatever or whomever was down on the first floor hadn’t come to the stairs yet, instead moving away from the stairs. By the sound of footsteps on the floor below, they could hear it moving around. Whatever it was, it moved slowly and it was moving into the library. 

Harley hissed. “What is it? What’s it doing?” 

“If I were to take a guess…” He sniffed the air again before he added. “...a ghoul,” Joker replied with a slight nod and a grin. “I mean there are a lot of things that smell bad--this is Gotham after all.” He snickered. “But one of the worst are ghouls, though that fucking Weasel smells really bad and Man-Bat doesn’t smell that great either.” 

Harley looked shocked, a sick feeling settling into her stomach. She knew what a ghoul was, a horrible loathsome creature that ate the flesh of the dead. She had heard a little about Weasel and Man-Bat from her parents and in the papers when she came home, but she had thought it all just some sensationalized reporting. Scientists, alchemists, and magicians were always doing stupid experiments, and when they couldn’t get volunteers and were above kidnapping from Gotham’s homeless population for human subjects, they sometimes opted to experiment on themselves. 

She had heard the stories of Dr. John Monroe and Dr. Kirk Langstrom, tragic stories of hubris. 

But her curiosity did force her to ask. “Have you been close enough to either of them to smell them?” 

Joker grinned brightly at her. “Oh, in my line of work I get to meet all sorts of amusing people...The old Weasel came to me for help once. I won’t get into the details, but he smelled of wet fur, feces, and rat...a lot of rat.” Joker shuddered. “Now Dr. Langstrom, there was this little tiff we got into over a chemical being developed by Wayne Enterprises. Seems we had both come up with the same idea to steal it...could have been a nasty fight until the old Batman showed up.” 

“Ah…” Harley knew all about Batman. You couldn’t be from Gotham and not know about the caped figure who prowled Gotham City, dispensing his justice. Granted, Batman had only been around for the last ten years, but he had become the symbol of Gotham, even if the local government and organized crime didn’t like it. Batman had also made it known his dislike of magic, which made him unpopular among Gotham’s magical community, one of the largest around compared to other major cities in the United States. 

Harley’s opinion on Batman was mixed. She could see the good he was doing, but something about the man also got under her skin. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, but she didn’t like him. 

They moved quietly again, then stopped to listen. Harley was frowning, pondering over something Joker had said. 

Harley hissed. Only now did Joker’s words seem to sink in. “Are you a thief then?” 

Joker gave her a bright grin in the darkness. “I’m a lot of things, sweets.” 

Harley pressed her lips together before she said, “Yet my parents liked you.” 

Joker grinned and shrugged. “Your parents always did have good taste. Now, is there another way out of the house from here or are the stairs our only option? We need to get out. Being cornered by a ghoul would not be fun...well...maybe it would...” Joker chuckled. “I’ve never fought one before...” 

Harley smirked at Joker, couldn’t help herself; he was amusing. She took a moment to visualize her home’s layout. It only took her a moment to know they had no options except to turn back the way they had come and hide in her parents’ lab. 

“No, there are the windows in some of the rooms, but there is no other safe way out. The stairs are it.” She looked back the way they had come. “Maybe we should try and hide?” She looked back toward her parents’ lab. 

Joker was about to respond to that suggestion, a look of annoyed “why didn’t I think of that” when they could hear it, the creak of the stairs, followed by the sound of something pulling on the bannister. 

Something yelled up at them, its voice like ice. “I’ve caught your scent pretty girl...now to find out what you taste like…” 

Joker stood up. “Run!” 

They both turned, running back the way they had come when something hit the floor behind them. Joker spun around, his cape flowing behind him. His eyes widened, magical lights illuminating the creature that had hit the floor behind him. He had seen plenty of ghouls before from a distance or up close once they were dead, but he could tell this one was vastly different than the ones he had seen before. The ones he had seen were usually the smaller, bony ones that crawled around on all fours and barely had a coherent thought in their heads. He hadn’t said anything to Harley, but he had assumed if there was a ghoul that it would be...well, tiny and that whoever had been yelling up at them had to be the ghoul’s handler, but this thing… 

It was taller than him even while it held itself with its massive shoulders stooped. The grey-greenish body was completely hairless and covered with thick, ropey muscles. The claws of its fingers and toes were long and bone white, and it’s mouth was so full of needle sharp teeth that Joker found it surprising that the thing could speak. The face had no nose, only a dark, triangle shaped opening where the nose should be and the eyes...the eyes were large, and a solid, glowing white. 

Joker had never actually had to engage with one before now. Ghouls were mostly skittish and Gotham did a pretty good job of keeping the creatures of the cemeteries out of the city. But this thing was bigger than any ghoul he’d seen and far more frightening--if it was indeed a ghoul, he thought in that moment. Shoving his hand into one of the pocket’s of his vest, Joker pulled out a small vial filled with a bright red substance that resembled sand. He had been carrying this small crystal vial for a while in the hopes of getting to use it. He had concocted the recipe himself. The tiny bottle’s contents held something he had given a fun name to--wyvern’s breath. He had worked hard on this stuff, blowing himself up dozens of times to make it properly until finally he had it! 

He had been saving this little bottle of wyvern’s breath in the hopes that maybe he would get to use it on Batman, but now here he was going to use it on this giant of a ghoul. He smiled, finding that he didn’t mind using it instead of saving it because he was using it for Harley’s sake. 

For just a moment, as the ghoul spread its arms and clawed hands wide, that thought made him stop--so strange. He filed that thought away to ponder over later, but right now he had a ghoul to deal with. 

The thing saw Joker and smiled. Joker could see the malicious intelligence in the creature’s pupiless white eyes. 

“What are you, funny little man? The prince who saves the princess? I wonder if you’ll taste as good as virgin meat? Are you as soft and sweet?” The ghoul’s voice was heavily accented and it twisted its head too far one way then the other as it spoke. 

“Oh I am a prince, The Clown Prince of Gotham.” Joker chuckled, moving his body in such a way as to try to shield Harley from the monster’s view. He controlled his surprise at the ghoul being able to speak, but revealed nothing in his face or his stance. “As for whether I’m virginal sweet? Well I might actually be!” Joker chuckled, wiggling his hips back and forth. “But I’m not really into being eaten. I have heard many a cannibal joke that claim clowns taste funny. I’m sure a virginal clown tastes extra funny.” Joker snickered, his red lipped smile growing wider as the ghoul looked at him with confusion in his glowing eyes. 

“I’m here to kill the girl. I’ll give you one chance to leave,” the ghoul said with something that might have been dignity. “But believe me...clown...I’ll savor your guts as much as I’ll savor hers.” Joker shrugged. “Well see? There we have a problem. I like Miss Quinzel. I have a hard time finding people I like. When you’re as wonderful as myself, everyone else is boring, but Miss Quinzel is….” He smiled with pleasure. “...she’s intriguing. So I would like to keep her alive and maybe earn some favor by saving her life. Isn’t that how it works in all the novels?” He lifted a green brow over his goggles at the ghoul who looked utterly confused by Joker. “You save the girl and she likes you afterwards? Seems a bit simple, I’ll admit, but I’m willing to give it a try.” 

Neither one of them moved, the tension between them building. Joker could hear Harley behind him. She was at the door to the lab, but she couldn’t get through. He heard her banging on the door. 

He gently sucked on his bottom lip, didn’t like the fact that Harley was scared. She should never have to feel scared he thought absently as he waited to see what the talking ghoul would do. Joker quickly inventoried what other weapons he had on him. His knives--damn it he should have brought his gun. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he chided himself when the tension snapped like a rubber band and the ghoul rushed down the hall toward him. 

Joker’s grin widened. He shifted his stance, his legs wider apart, his shoulders slightly hunched, arms out, his thumb nail against the cork of his vial. He didn’t move, waited...waited… 

When the ghoul was close enough, Joker popped the lid and tossed the contents toward the ghoul. The moment the red sand hit the air it exploded into bright red flame along with the sound of a fire bursting to life. The fire swarmed toward the ghoul like a raging swarm of wasps, covering the pale creature in an instant. 

* 

Harley kicked the door to the lab in frustration. She knew it would be locked tight, but that didn’t stop her from being frustrated all the same. She banged on it with her fists and kicked it once, turning to look over her shoulder at Joker and the ghoul. When the magical light danced across the pale, sickly skin of the ghoul, Harley almost froze. She had seen pictures and illustrations of ghouls, but none of them had ever looked like this creature. It was massive, its form filling her home’s hall way. She could see the mouth of teeth and glowing eyes along with his claws. There was a chill to the air, mixed with a sort of sickly miasma that made her skin crawl as she looked at it. 

Harley swallowed, looking around for a weapon. She had nothing on her, wearing only her nightgown and robe, and her personal signature spells had nothing to do with protecting or attacking, nothing that could really help her. 

Her eyes darted around desperately looking for something when her eyes fell on the butter knife she had brought with the food. She reached down and snagged the knife--not a very good weapon, she knew--but with enough force anything could be a weapon she reasoned when she heard the creature speaking to Joker. 

Hearing the thing call from downstairs had been frightening enough, but now, hearing and seeing the ghoul speaking, Harley felt like something cold and lifeless was slithering across her skin. The sound of its voice made her feel nauseous, but she caught what the monster said, it was here for her...to eat her...why? Why her? She didn’t have any enemies that she could think of except her brother, but she didn’t see him as an enemy. They were just...well, at odds right now. Part of her still hoped that maybe they could reconcile later, with some time. 

She clutched her butterknife in a shaky fist, watching Joker and the creature. Her heart did a little flip when Joker said he found her intriguing and that he wanted to earn her favor, but when the monster started to move, rushing down the hall toward Joker, Harley tensed, ready to run to his defense when Joker threw something. 

She had enough time to see a flash of red powder then there was a sudden roar of flames. Harley let out a startled scream that came out more as a yelp as the flames blasted over the ghoul. For a second she couldn’t see the monster as the flames enveloped it, then just as quickly the monster seemed to brush the flames aside. The hall filled with the smell of burnt, decaying flesh, sweet and bitter along with the mix of stink that came off the creature. 

But instead of attacking Joker, the ghoul slammed a massive hand back, batting Joker out of the way, intent to reach her. 

Harley stumbled back tripping over the tray of food as the monster came at her. She caught sight of burned and bubbling pale greyish flesh, in places turned black and red by Joker’s fire, then it was on her. 

The ghoul slammed into her, throwing her back against the doors to her parents' lab. Harley made a soft whine as the impact knocked the air from her lungs and made her see stars when her head impacted with the heavy wooden doors. 

The ghoul reached for her, but Harley, struggling to breathe, slashed out with her dull makeshift weapon. The creature laughed while grabbing her arm. She screamed as it raked it’s claws down her arm, over her wrist and into her balled fist, cutting deep enough that warm blood oozed from the wounds freely. Her fingers came loose despite her best effort to keep them closed and she dropped her only weapon. The ghoul yanked her arm up and ran its long, grey tongue over the bleeding claw marks. 

“Mm...fresh, virgin blood. You are a delicacy,” the ghoul hissed when Joker growled. 

“Get away from her!” 

The ghoul dropped her arm and yanked her away from the door. It twisted her around and pressed her back to its burnt body. The creature leaned down and dragged its tongue along Harley’s throat and hissed, “Sweet.” 

Harley squirmed, gasping with pain as she struggled against the thing’s grip, fighting against the monster, but it only laughed and faced the Joker. The creature held her by her throat while its other clawed hand rested against her belly. Harley winced in pain as the creature’s claws pressed against her, hard enough that it drew blood. 

“What do you think you’re going to do clown?” The ghoul snickered, the sound like something wet, phlegmy, and filmy, like a coating on the skin. 

Harley could see Joker, standing like in a predator hunch, legs spread, knees bent, his arms in front of him, handing his hands up ready for an attack. Harley could see in his hands that Joker held two blades, long and thin, dangerous looking knives made for slashing and puncturing. She couldn’t see exactly what was on them, but there was something that looked like symbols along the blades that glowed, as did Joker’s eyes behind the goggles; she could see the light in his eyes through the colored lenses. 

“You should let her go.” Joker smiled, his grin sinister. “Or I’ll have to cut a smile onto that ugly face.” 

The ghoul seemed to ponder Joker for a few seconds as it leaned down to lick Harley’s cheek and continued staring at Joker. When it spoke, it’s voice was low, almost seductive. “I wasn’t told about you. Interesting, but I’m happy for a second meal...eating your intestines will be a joy…” 

Harley couldn’t breathe well with the creature's hand around her throat. She could see darkness at the edges of her vision and an aching pain in her stomach from it’s claws, but still she started to fight. Struggling, Harley reaching up to claw at the hand that was around her throat. The creature tightened it’s hold on her. She gagged. The stench of the thing was overpowering even as she drew constricted breaths and its skin felt like the dead flesh of a bloated corpse mixed with the scent of charred flesh. 

“I’ll let you watch me eat her alive little man, and then I’ll feast on you,” the ghoul snarled. 

Joker grinned and his gaze shot over to Harley. He tried to convey without speaking that he was going to get her away from that monster, that he needed her to trust him, but he said nothing, his attention returning to the ghoul. 

He knew he didn’t have a chance to get her away without the creature hurting her, but he would hopefully make it so the monster’s damage was minimal by making it focus on him. He chuckled. Wouldn’t Bats be impressed with him playing the hero!! He did make a dashing hero he thought with a wide grin before he responded to the monster. 

“I’ll cut your eyeballs out and add them to my lab.” His red lips twisted into a sneer. “Then I’ll use your heart for my magics and your spleen to make potions to sell to a few rubes I know. I’ll make necklaces from your teeth and claws and candles from your fat that I can sell in Gotham.” Joker’s smile became even more sinister, a little wider than it should have been. “Don’t you worry darling, I’ll put all of you to good use.” 

The ghoul spat. “You’re an alchemist?” 

Joker giggled maniacally. “And so much more!” 

Suddenly Joker was moving, unexpectedly fast. Harley couldn’t see him; for a split second he was a blur, and then suddenly he was in front of the ghoul and her. One of his arms shot out toward the ghoul’s in a blur of movement. At the same time Joker hissed a word under his breath that Harley barely caught. “Acidum…” 

At the same time that the blade lunged forward toward the monster’s face, bright green acid traveled along Joker’s hand and across the blade like a snake to strike the ghoul in the face. The monster let out a scream that made Harley want to vomit. At the same time it’s claws on her abdomen ripped across her skin as the creature tossed her aside to claw at its burning face. 

Harley hit the floor hard, but the pain of impact was nothing compared to the pain of the claws that had ripped across her stomach. She was nearly blinded by the pain, grabbing at her side, feeling the warm ooze of blood between her fingers, but she had enough forethought to drag herself out of the way as best she could. 

The ghoul lashed out at Joker. He danced out of the way, but not before he scored several quick slashes at the creature. He came in close, pressing his advantage, but he got too close. Even blinded, the monster had strength and greater reach. This time it’s great claws caught him and slashed Joker’s arm. 

Joker hissed in pain and jumped back. His sleeve was torn and blood oozed through the rips. Joker looked at the beast and its acid burned face, hissed in annoyance. “I love this jacket, you bitch!!” 

The ghoul growled, lunging toward the sound of Joker’s voice. The creature slammed into Joker’s chest with its shoulder. Harley gasped watching as they both tumbled down the hall leaving a trail of red and black blood in the magical lights of the floating orbs. She struggled to push herself to her feet, using the wall to pull herself up. Hissing in pain, she looked down at herself. Her gown was ruined and she was bleeding bright red blood from seemingly everywhere, her hand, arm and torso covered in it. She couldn’t feel any pain at the moment, which told her she was going into shock. 

Damn it, she thought. She needed to help Joker, but she wasn’t sure what she could do… 

* 

Joker hit the floor hard on his back, the air whooshing from his lungs painfully, the back of his head giving the floor a hard smack, the ghoul on top of him. The smell was enough to kill a man all by itself, he thought as the ghoul’s stinking skin and hot, nasty breath washed his face. He still had a hold of his knives and he started to stab the monster in its sides as hard and as fast as he could. Each time he pulled a blade free, black blood flew and splattered everywhere. The monster reared back and slashed at him, but Joker twisted and heaved. Joker saw that the monster was blinded by the acid in its face, his spell still eating at the thing’s face and eyes. The ghoul still couldn’t see him, but Joker knew his position was going to get him killed. Joker hissed and bucked while stabbing, trying to get himself free, but he couldn’t get the creature off of him. The ghoul’s attacks were mindless and clumsy, but it still caught Joker on the jaw with a clawed hand, drawing blood and ripping the front of his chest and vest, scoring another slash across his chest and tearing even more of his suit. Joker snarled, continuing to stab, but the wounds seemed to do nothing to stop the ghoul, when suddenly he heard Harley’s strained voice yell out. 

“Pneuma!!” 

A hard blast of wind hit the ghoul, knocking it off of Joker and sent it flying back. The monster hit the side of the staircase and tumbled down the stairs out of view. Joker leapt to his feet. He wobbled for a moment before he rushed to the stairs, just in time to see the ghoul flee out the door. 

Leaning heavily on the bannister, trying not to fall, he felt dizzy from the blow to the head. Joker rushed down the stairs, his knives still in his hands. He stumbled to the front door, which was hanging open. He saw black blood in a trail down the stairs and smeared against the door frame, but when he looked outside, there was nothing. The night was quiet, as if the ghoul had ever been there. 

Panting, Joker stared out into the darkness, but after a few tense seconds, he wiped his blades on his pants legs. His damn suit was already ruined, so what was more black ghoul blood he groused to himself. After wiping them clean, he slid the blades back into their hiding spot along his forearms. He closed the door and hurried back up the stairs to Harley. 

* 

He found her in a puddle on the floor, her legs having given out on her. His heart nearly stopped. She looked like a pale ghost, her nightgown pooled around her in a classical pose, her blonde hair spread from her, a few locks covering her face. 

“Harley!” He dropped down so fast and hard beside her that the vibration raced up his legs, but he didn’t feel the pain as he moved her gently onto her back and onto his lap. His gloved hands trembled as he checked her pale throat for a pulse. It was there, not as strong as it should be, but stronger than he would have guessed, and she was breathing. A wave of relief washed over him as he quickly examined her wounds. It didn’t take him long to realize she was hurt badly. She needed more than he could give her; she needed a hospital. 

Joker cursed under his breath. 

Moving quickly, he popped one of his knives free and quickly unbuttoned his vest and yanked free his shirt. He cut strips off of the shirt and wrapped them around Harley’s arm and her torso in order to slow the bleeding, then he laid her back carefully onto the floor. She looked too pale, almost the same color as him, he noted with concern. He touched her face with shaking fingers. 

“Don’t you dare die,” he murmured. “I haven’t gotten to know you yet.” He smiled, his fingers hovering over her pale lips, but he didn’t touch her, his fingers were covered in blood. “You are haunting me Harley. I need to know you. I…” He swallowed. “I need you in my life--I don’t know why, but I do.” He brushed her hair back from her pretty face. “I’m going to get you help,” he murmured before he did something even he wasn’t expecting. 

Joker leaned down and pressed a kiss to her bloodless lips. 

He stood up and hurried over for his discarded top hat before he hurried out of the house. He didn’t think clearly enough to look for a phone inside, his only coherent thought was that Frost would be able to summon help for her and when Frost did, Joker couldn’t be here, no matter how much he wanted to stay with Harley, to hold her, protect her, and to make sure she got the help she needed. He just couldn't stay here. If the cops saw him, he’d be in jail, probably accused of hurting her. 

Then he would never get to see her again. 

No...Frost. He needed Frost, the man would know what to do. 

* 

Frost was dozing slightly when something caused him to open his eyes just in time to see Joker, his clothing torn, tattered and covered in blood, rushing down the sidewalk toward him. Frost was on alert immediately. The car’s engine roared to life as Joker grabbed the door and threw himself into the back seat of the vehicle. 

“Frost!! Harley is in trouble!!” 

Frost had started to pull away only to stop halfway into the lane, confused. “What?” 

Joker grabbed his shoulder and shook the other man. “She needs a hospital!! Please Frost!” 

Frost nodded and swiftly pulled his phone out of his front pocket. He hit the button and a hologram of a woman with an impressive light pink beehive hairdo, wearing a Gotham City police uniform sat at a desk popped up. The 911 call was anonymous so that the woman only saw a hologram of a generic person, neither male or female with no discernible features and the voice was modified to be gender neutral as well. 

“This is 911, how can I help?” 

Frost spoke clearly and concisely, giving the Quinzel address and explained that the resident was in dire need of an ambulance. 

The operator nodded. “The ambulance is on their way, they’ll be there in five minutes.” 

Frost nodded. “Thank you.” He hung up the phone. 

He felt Joker sag, releasing his shoulder. 

Frost turned. “What happened?” 

Joker sighed, pulling up his goggles. Frost could see more blood splatters on the pale man’s face and a nasty wound along his chin that needed to be attended to. “I’ll tell you on the way home.” 

* 

Gregory groaned pleasantly as he leaned back naked against the thick red velvet cushions, taking a deep drag on the opium pipe that sat beside him. Smoke filled the air in a thick fog, turning everything into hazy shadows. The four naked women that laid around him were either drugged into unconsciousness or were smoking with him. At this point, he was neither sure, nor did he care. He’d paid for them for them until the sun rose and he needed a break after their rambunctious round of sex. 

After dealing with Circe and her minions, he needed a little relaxation, which was why he had come to Hourman’s Den of Dreams to relax. Gregory sighed again and took another drag on the opium pipe, sighing happily when there was a scratch at the heavy red curtains. 

“Sir?” 

Gregory groaned. “What?” 

“Sir, we’ve just received a message from Gotham General. Your sister has been brought in,” the man on the other side said softly. “Do you wish us to call you a cab?” 

Gregory grinned sitting up. “She’s in the hospital?!” 

The man on the other side said softly, “Yes sir.” 

“Yes, get me a cab!” Gregory dropped the pipe and shoved one of the naked women off his lap before he began to look for his clothes. This was perfect!! Harleen was in the hospital which left the house empty--which left her vulnerable. 

Gregory giggled like a school boy. 

* 

When Harleen woke up she came to with a strangled gasp, her eyes wide with panic, her hands came up, grabbing at nothing and her voice was hoarse. “JOKER!!” 

Just as quickly Harleen began to calm as she took in her surroundings. The room she was in was completely white, a large oval window that took up one entire wall looked out over the early morning skyline of Gotham city. The soft beep of medical equipment was the only sound in the room. She was lying in a hospital bed, an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, an I.V. in her arm. 

She felt that light separation from her body that told her she was on pain medication. 

Harleen took a quick inventory of herself. Her arm had been stitched and bandaged as had her side. She could feel the residue of magical stitches, the warm, low burn against her skin that was comforting. Her mind quickly ran over the events of the night and her heart twisted. Where was Joker? Had he been brought here too? Was he all right? 

Her mouth felt dry and the drugs being pumped into her made her want to slip back into unconsciousness, but she instead reached over and pressed the call button. 

A few seconds later a nurse entered the room, a tall woman with a stern face and kind eyes. “Glad you see you’re awake. How are you feeling? Any pain?” 

Harleen smiled. “I’m all right, thirsty.” 

“Well you gave the ER doctor a little heart attack. If you hadn't bound your wounds you might not have made it through the night.” The nurse smiled walking over to check the equipment. But she hadn’t bound her wounds Harleen thought, then smiled. It had to have been Joker. 

Harleen saw that her name tag read Edison. “Would you like some juice? We have grapes, orange, and cranberry,” the nurse explained. 

“Cranberry thank you,” Harleen said softly. 

Edison smiled. “Cranberry juice it is. I’ll see about bringing you a breakfast menu to look at too. You need to eat so you can heal.” Edison grinned at her, lightly patting Harley’s hand before she hurried out. 

Harleen laid back against her pillow with a sigh after the nurse stepped out, frowned and chewed on her bottom lip in thought. She had no way of knowing if Joker was all right, no way of contacting him. She thought about asking if he was here in the hospital too, but her gut told her no, he wouldn’t be. The worst part was that she didn't have a phone number, or even the whisper note which was only good if he could come to pick it up. There was no address, nothing that would let her find him. 

Closing her eyes, Harleen thought about what had happened, the talking ghoul, the fight. She shuddered as she remembered the smell of it, the cold, dead feel of its skin next to hers, and its breath--the dead carrion scent of its breath. She shuddered and let her thoughts drift to more pleasant things...like Joker. How he had fought the ghoul. The way he had moved, his cape flaring behind him, moving with a deadly grace, the way he had flung that spell... 

She smirked giggling a little, which made her side pull uncomfortably against her stitches. Here she was in a hospital bed thinking about how handsome a man, whom she barely knew, looked while fighting. Very silly Harleen. She should be thinking about why that ghoul was there...why was it after her? 

She shivered her eyes popping open just as Nurse Edison returned with her juice. “Miss Quinzel? The police are here, they would like to talk with you.” It was clear that Nurse Edison wasn’t happy about it, but had little choice. 

Right behind the nurse came a plain clothes cop and another officer, female, dressed in an attractively cut dark blue suit. 

“Miss Quinzel.” The man was large with broad shoulders with the hint of a belly developing. He wore a brown, beat-up looking fedora that matched an equally brown, beat-up looking trench coat. Underneath he wore a simple grey suit. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in a while and his unshaven face heightened Harleen’s opinion that the man was tired. The woman next to him was younger, with dark hair and large black eyes, her skin a warm brown color. 

The man put his out to her at the same time peeling the lapel of his coat away to show his badge. 

“I’m Detective Bullock and this is my partner Detective Rene Montoya. We’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened tonight.” 

Harleen pushed herself up a little as Nurse Edison pushed the button to raise her bed and brought the table over to set the juice on. “Yes, of course. I was attacked by a ghoul,” she said softly 

Bullock blinked. “Really?” 

Harleen nodded. “Yes. It...it was a talking ghoul...I think someone sent it there…” She picked up her juice and took a sip. 

“A talking ghoul?” Bullock frowned, glancing at his partner then the nurse. “How much pain meds she on?” 

“I’m not drugged Detective Bullock,” Harleen said with a little bit of a growl. 

Montoya frowned, but nodded. “I’ve heard stories about different types of ghouls. Every culture has its own varieties…” 

Bullock snorted. “Yeah well, I suppose I could believe that. Just look at Mayor Hill.” 

Rene gave her partner a dirty look. 

Bullock snorted and was about to ask another question when suddenly the door to Harleen’s room was flung open. “Harleen!!” 

Harleen looked surprised as her brother, dressed in white pinstripe suit with a gold and red tie, his blonde hair immaculately styled, burst into the room and rushed over to her bedside. “You poor, poor thing!” 

Harleen smiled in shock. “Gregory?” 

“I heard you were hurt and rushed right over.” He frowned looking her over, taking her unbandaged hand. “What did you do this time Harleen? I just...I wish you would let me help you…” 

“What? What are you talking about? What I did this time?” Harleen paled and looked affronted. 

Gregory turned to the two detectives. “I’m so sorry officers. What story has she told this time?” 

Bullock lifted a brow. “Said it was a talking ghoul.” 

Gregory made a tsking sound. “She’s always had such an imagination, but she hasn’t been quite right since our parents’ deaths…” 

Nurse Edison was glaring at Gregory, very clear in her instant dislike of the man. 

“I am fine!!” Harleen yelled. “And I’m not lying! It was a talking ghoul!! Jo…” She started to say Joker, then quickly shut her mouth. Something in her gut told her not to mention Joker. 

“What was that dear?” Gregory turned and picked up his sister’s hand again, patting the top of it, but Harleen yanked her hand back. “It was a ghoul...there’s blood to prove it!” She looked around her brother at the detectives. “If you go to my home there is blood, black blood…” 

Gregory laughed. “Harleen really...you have got to stop hurting yourself like this. I may be forced to commit you…” 

“WHAT?!” Harleen screamed nearly coming out of the bed. Nurse Edison rushed over to try and calm her. “You have no authority…” she began, but Bullock looked half-convinced while Montoya simply frowned. 

“She has a history of cutting and hurting herself,” Gregory told the police, shaking his head. “We’ve kept it secret and helped her get through her episodes, but now, after our parents’ death…” 

He sighed sadly and shook his head. “They left her the house in the will, but I’m afraid she’s become too distraught, all of it simply too much for her delicate disposition…” He looked from Montoya to Bullock, but kept his attention on Bullock. “These are the worst injuries yet. I think some time alone would do her good. Some good doctors…” 

Bullock rubbed the back of his neck frowning, nearly knocking off his hat. 

Harleen yelled. “I AM FINE!! THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!!” She slammed her good fist against the bed. “I was attacked by a ghoul!! Just go look at the house!” 

Montoya frowned. “Maybe we should look at the house…” 

Gregory shook his head. “What my sister needs is a long rest. Maybe you could help me with that detective?” He looked at Bullock who offered his name. 

“Bullock...and yeah...yeah we can help with that.” 

Gregory turned smiling at his sister. “A good long stay at Arkham will set you right dear sister.” 

Harleen’s eyes widened in shock and she did the only thing she could think of--she picked up her cranberry juice and threw it right at Gregory and his stupid face.


	7. Whispers of Madness

Montoya and Bullock left Miss Quinzel at the hospital with her brother after the juice incident. They heard the two siblings shout at each other through the closed door before they were in the elevator and heading to the ground floor. Bullock had to admire Miss Quinzel. From the sound of it, she didn’t put up with any shit and Bullock could tell the brother was full of it. 

Bullock had learned that guys like that, snappy dressers full of an overabundance of charm, were always full of shit. He had spent long years on the police force, long enough to sniff shit out and to recognize a con man when he saw one. And that brother was a snake, a full of shit con man if he’d ever seen one. No wonder the parents had left Gregory Quinzel out of the will; the man was clearly not to be trusted. Granted, Bullock didn’t know it for certain, but his nose had never been wrong. 

Now, as for Miss Harleen Quinzel, she was an odd one, Bullock thought to himself as he tapped his foot and wishing for a smoke. He didn’t sniff anything strange about her beyond the usual stuff those magic users went in for--bunch of incense and candles nonsense--but she just seemed like a frightened but sincere young woman who was dealing with a tragedy. And judging by the way she had glared at her brother, she was probably dealing with everything by herself without the brother’s support. Her brother didn’t look like the helping type, unless it was to help himself to any money that might be had. 

Same old story, Bullock thought with a sigh, parents favor one sibling over the other, the good kid and the bad one, bad one gets axed from the will and goes after the good kid. 

Pressing his lips together, Bullock decided he was going to do a background check on Gregory, just...because. 

Except for the strangeness of her story, Miss Quinzel...Doctor, that is. She was actually a doctor he reminded himself. Either way, that Quinzel broad didn’t put up with her brother’s crap or maybe old Gregory Quinzel had pushed his sister’s buttons enough that she had had it with him. Regardless, Bullock could admire her, which was why he was hoping they found something at her home. 

If they didn’t... 

He frowned and shoved his hands into his pockets as they exited the elevator and walked across the lobby, heading toward the garage. 

“So what’s on your mind?” Rene asked. 

Bullock looked up at her. She was tall for a woman, nearly a head taller than him with a rich mellow brown skin tone, with short hair that was a deep, dark black to match her eyes. She gave him a smile and lifted a questioning brow at him. 

“I’m just hoping we find something is all,” Bullock said as he stopped at the passenger door to their car. He pressed his thumb against the lock pad. The car read the thumb print before popping open. Rene had done the same on the other side before slipping into the driver’s seat. 

“Me too actually. Dr. Quinzel seems like a nice young woman and she seems to believe her story,” Rene added. 

Bullock muttered, “And her brother seems like a piece of shit.” 

Rene started the car, leaned forward to let the iris scanner read her eye before the vehicle roared to life. “Agreed, the guy has slimy written all over him. No wonder their parents left everything to her.” 

“Well the worst that’s going to happen is she ends up at Arkham for seventy-two hours for observation,” Bullock said as he slouched in his seat. 

Montoya frowned looking over at her partner as she drove out of the garage. “You act like it’s no big deal. You’ve been to Arkham, you know what that place is like…” 

Bullock frowned, took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Then let’s hope we find something.” 

Rene nodded and headed toward the Quinzel house. 

* 

Harleen laid back in her bed, her arms crossed, staring at nothing in particular in her room, just staring. She was so angry that she wanted to throw something or hit someone...hit Gregory in particular. He had continued to treat her as if she was simple or something even after she had thrown the juice at him. When it was clear he was causing her to become more agitated, Nurse Edison made Gregory leave. 

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Harleen tried to relax. Nurse Edison said she would be back in a few minutes to give her something so she could sleep. Part of her didn’t want to go to sleep, but Harleen felt exhausted. The detectives didn’t believe her about the ghoul and she supposed it did sound crazy, a talking ghoul, but there was evidence at the house. They would see it. Harleen felt icy fingers run down her spine. What if there wasn’t any hard evidence though? What if someone had removed the evidence? She wasn’t sure why she would even think that except for simply being paranoid. Biting her bottom lip in worry Harleen turned in her bed and nearly screamed when she saw Joker standing there, his hat in one hand and a single red rose held in the other. 

She slapped her hand over her mouth to swallow the scream, her eyes going wide and bright with pleasure at seeing him. 

Joker grinned brightly at her. “Hiya sweets!” 

He gave her a graceful bow, even going so far as to whip his cape around before he looked up again and winked at her. “How are you feeling?” 

Harleen smiled, dropped her hands from her mouth and said in a whisper. “How did you get in here without anyone seeing you?” She glanced toward the room’s door. 

Joker grinned, wrinkling his nose playfully at her before laying a gloved finger alongside his slender nose. “I have my ways.” He waggled his eyebrows and whispered conspiratorially. “Magic…” 

He wiggled his fingers at her, making Harley giggle as he stepped closer and handed her the blood red flower. Harleen blushed as she took the rose and held it to her nose. It smelled divine. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, blushing as tears formed at the corner of her eyes; the simple rose was beautiful. “Are you all right?” She looked him over and noted he had changed clothes, the bloody and torn clothing now gone. Joker was now wearing black slacks that hugged the man’s lean legs, slender waist, and hips almost obscenely. Pulling her gaze away from his legs Harley sat that the suit was a deep purple with hints of red...almost eggplant colored. His jacket had tails with matching cumberbun and matching bow tie worn against a black dress shirt. His top hat was the same shade of dark eggplant as the rest of his suit with a bright green band around the hat that matched the dark evergreen shade of his leather gloves. Joker had also changed his shoes, still the sharply pointed oxford style, but this time they were dark green with white spats. He wore a black cloak over all of it, no blood in sight and the wound on his jaw had been cleaned and bandaged. She suspected that any of the other wounds he had received trying to help her had also been tended to. Harleen marveled at him. The man didn’t look as if he had been in a fight at all, except for the wound on his jaw which had a clean bandage that could have come from anything other than a fight with a ghoul. But she could see a strain around his eyes; he looked tired even as he gave her another red-lipped smile. 

Joker noticed her looking at his clothing and grinned at her before he did a little spin, flipping his cloak out so that his spin looked dramatic. 

“Like?” he asked with a grin. 

Harleen chuckled softly and nodded. “Yes, you look very nice.” She lightly touched her own jaw. “Are you all right?” 

He smiled back at her and nodded. “My man Frost cleaned me up and stitched me up, so I’m as good as new. I smell better too. That thing was foul, let me tell you.” He shuddered, then added, 

“Hey, speaking of foul, I have a joke for you. Why do farts stink?” His eyes lit up like a child’s. 

Harleen giggled, gazing back at him. She could become lost in those eyes. (She noticed he wasn’t wearing his goggles and for some reason that made her heart do a little skip.) As she stared into Joker’s eyes, her fingers itched to reach up and brush back a stray curl that had fallen across his pale forehead. Once more she noticed what an attractive man he was. The pale ghost white skin and thick green hair did nothing to detract from how alluring she found him. In fact, she thought his red lips and blue eyes were more stunning with his coloring. 

Joker sat down on the edge of her bed. His closeness, his smile, and his sparkling blue eyes--all of him--combined to make her feel warm, excited, and something else that she couldn’t put a finger on, but she felt giddy as well. The fact that he had saved her life also contributed to those feelings, she knew, but she was physically attracted to the man, an intense attraction like nothing she had felt before. 

“I don’t know, why?” she asked with all seriousness, though a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. 

“So deaf people can enjoy them too!” He snickered and his clear enjoyment made Harleen laugh loud enough that she had to put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter and her gasp as she winced in pain. 

Joker grinned at her leaning over to lay his top hat on top of her head. “How are you feeling?” he kept his tone light, but Harley saw the seriousness in his gaze. He frowned for a moment, looking down at his gloved hands before he said softly. “You scared me. I don’t think I like being scared for someone.” 

“I’m sorry,” Harley murmured, but Joker shook his head. 

“Don’t be.” He smiled and reached out to brush her cheek with the side of his finger. “So what have the doctors told you?” 

Harley blushed at his touch. “The nurse said they will be keeping me for the next twenty-four hours. If I do all right, I can go home, maybe as early as tomorrow afternoon. Of course Gregory showed up here and…” Her voice broke off and she looked down, taking a deep breath through her nose before she looked back up at Joker who was frowning, concern showing in his eyes. He reached out and lightly touched her face again, a gentle, reassuring gesture. His concern made her swallow; she appreciated it more than he knew. 

Sighing, Harley licked her lips. “We really saw a ghoul, right?” she asked with fear and confusion clear in her light blue eyes. 

Joker blinked as if the question shocked him, but he nodded. “Yes we did. We fought it too. Why?” 

“The police are going to my house to look for evidence. Gregory told them that I’ve been having...problems. He wants me to be held for a psychiatric evaluation.” Harley’s voice had dropped down to a whisper along with her gaze. She looked at the rose as she spoke. “He wants them to hold me at Arkham Asylum.” Her eyes slowly rose up to meet Joker’s bright blue eyes. “He thinks I’m crazy.” She wanted to ask Joker for help, to ask him to tell the police he was there, but Harley didn’t say anything. She instinctively knew he couldn’t. No one who crept around the way Joker did, keeping to the night, not attending the will reading, disappearing during the wake, hiding behind top hats and goggles, wanted anything to do with police. She may be naive outside of academia and her work experience, but she wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t ask him to speak on her behalf. 

Joker’s body went tense, a shiver of fear creeping in over his skin. Arkham was truly hell on earth. No one deserved to go to Arkham. No one. That place looked good on the outside, a monument to healing the mentally ill, but on the inside that place was rotten, rotten to the core. No one was cured in Arkham Asylum. 

He should know. 

Ugly memories--he assumed they were memories--shadows of things he might have remembered tried to rear their ugly heads, but he shoved them down. He wasn’t always so sure he wanted to remember his life before he became who and what he was now. He had a feeling there were horrible things in his past that he would rather not know. Some things were better left unknown. 

Joker turned his attention back to Harleen. 

“What? Arkham? Can he do that?” Joker asked through his teeth, his pale face going paler. “He can’t do that…” He didn’t sound sure as he muttered more to himself than to her, “He shouldn’t be able to do that.” 

Harley frowned, but nodded and pressed the rose to her lips. “Yes he can. He’s my next of kin and if I am determined to be unstable…” She swallowed, looking a little frightened. 

Joker reached out and took her free hand in both of his, holding her hand between his gloved ones gently giving her warmth and strength. “You won’t have to go. There was evidence at your house, they’ll find it.” He squeezed her hand, then brought it up to his lips, pressing his lips to her knuckles. Harley felt a warm shudder rush through her blood when his lips touched her knuckles. 

“Thank you,” she whispered smiling softly at him. 

He continued to brush his lips against her knuckles gazing at her, his heart thumping hard. He wanted to grab her up and spirit her away from here. He wanted to take her home with him and keep her safe and, maybe a little selfishly, keep her for himself. He was seriously considering taking her, he had opened his mouth, about to ask her if she wanted him to steal her away when the door to her room started to open. 

Joker dropped her hand and sprang to his feet. He reached for his hat, their eyes met. Joker winked at her, then stepped back, wrapping his cloak around him just as someone entered the room. 

Joker hissed out quietly, “Lateo.” 

Harley’s eyes shot to the door then to where Joker had been standing, but he was gone. She blinked in astonishment turning her gaze back to see a large bouquet of flowers, all yellow and pink roses. A head popped from around the large bouquet, startling Harleen when she saw it was Bruce Wayne. 

Her voice stuttered. “I--I thought visiting hours were over?” 

He stepped fully into her room with the flowers only to frown at the rose in Harleen’s hand. 

“I’m Bruce Wayne, I usually get what I want and what I wanted was to deliver these personally. And I see I wasn’t the first with the flowers.” Bruce chuckled. “I think I might be upset, though I shouldn’t be surprised. A pretty woman like you has all sorts of admirers.” 

Harleen held the rose close. “It’s from a dear friend…” 

Joker watched from the corner, the magic of the spell keeping him hidden from view (as long as he didn’t bump into someone or something, that would dissolve the spell.) His face screwed up in annoyance as he took in the sight of Bruce Wayne. What the fuck was he doing here? Joker narrowed his eyes at the man and at the bouquet of roses, but his frown soon turned back into a small smile when he saw the way Harley was caressing his single red rose, a gentle smile on her pretty lips. That was his smile Joker thought with triumph, a smile only for him! Ha! Suck on that Bruce. “I probably wear gold underwear and have my butler spoon feed me” Wayne! 

Joker smirked and stuck his tongue out at Bruce Wayne even though the billionaire couldn’t see him. He would love to stay and see what the hell Bruce Wayne thought he was doing with Harley...his eyes narrowing. That rich boy better not be making moves on her, Joker thought, but he couldn’t stay to find out. The longer he remained under the spell, the more likely he was to be caught and then there would be yelling billionaires, roaring doctors, screaming nurses, and angry guards, and it would just be a mess and he wasn’t dressed for that sort of fun. 

He deliberated only a few seconds before he decided he was going to swing back by Harley’s house to see if the detectives were there, just to see if they found the evidence they needed. 

* 

Bruce smiled, walking over to the little closet that occupied the same half of the room as the bathroom. He had been to Gotham General enough--and being a generous donor to the hospital--that he knew they kept flower vases of varying sizes on the top shelves. It only took him a few moments to find two vases, one for his vast bouquet and one for the small single rose Harleen had. He filled both vases with lukewarm water from the restroom sink. He felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck, glanced around, but saw nothing and finished filling the vases. He stepped back over to the patient table to pick up the flowers and worked on arranging her bouquet in the vase. 

“So how are you feeling? Really feeling that is, don’t tell me the polite version.” Bruce looked around the flowers at her with a smile. 

Harleen chuckled and smiled back at him. “Right now I’m all right. I’m on painkillers, so I’m feeling pretty good.” 

Bruce laughed. “Ah yes, the wonders of modern medicine mixed with magic.” He said the word ‘magic’ with a tone that made Harleen raise a brow at him, but she said nothing about it. Instead, she murmured. “My brother wants me held for observation.” 

“What?” Bruce looked confused as he finished with the flowers and set them on her bedside table. “Why?” He put his hand out for her rose. Harleen frowned slightly, but she handed the flower over. Bruce simply put the rose in its own vase before he set it down next to the huge bouquet. 

Harleen rubbed her lips together and started to pick at one of her nails. She didn’t know Bruce Wayne very well, but she wanted someone to believe her. 

“I was attacked by a ghoul, a talking ghoul at that, and no one believes me, Harleen muttered with frustration. She touched her bandaged side hidden under the hospital gown. “I didn’t do this to myself…” She took a breath through her nose. “Anyway, two detectives are going by the house to look for evidence of the attack, and depending on what they say, I may be held for seventy-two hours observation at Arkham.” 

Bruce had pulled one of the room's chairs over to her bed and sat down as she spoke. “A talking ghoul?” he asked, though not with the incredulous looks she had been getting all night. He looked more curious than anything. 

Harleen nodded looking over at Bruce, her eyes pleading as she asked. “Do you believe me? You do, don’t you?” 

Bruce smiled reaching over to take her hand. Harleen noticed immediately that Bruce holding her hand held no spontaneous reaction or feeling from her. His hand was rough and warm, but there was no burst of warmth that raced through her blood, no sexual response from her at all. 

“Of course I believe you. I’m sure the police will find something,” Bruce said softly. “And then you’ll be out of here in no time.” 

Harleen nodded, sniffing back tears that made her eyes burn. “I hope you’re right.” 

“I know I am.” He smiled gently, but he wondered if he should go...no, this was probably just a mistake. He had his own work to do this evening and couldn’t let his personal interest in Dr. Quinzel’s health affects his work. He would have to trust the police to help Harleen. His alter ego had other things that had to be done to protect all of Gotham. If something came up that the Gotham PD couldn’t handle, then he could look into the matter, but he felt certain that wouldn’t be necessary. 

* 

The slap burned. 

Gregory balled his hands into fists, glared at Circe, but he wasn’t so stupid as to respond in kind against the woman. He knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on, he knew he was outmatched by her. She was, he now realized, more powerful than he had originally thought. Originally he had thought her just another dime store witch, a street witch, but now…after the ghoul, she had to be something else and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he might be in over his head. 

He glared back at her as she hissed. “You fool, you were supposed to let me drive her insane, not just pounce at the first opportunity! It makes you look like a greedy fool.” She snarled and started to pace the room of her apartment, a place that Gregory found strange, as if the apartment was far bigger on the inside than the outside . Gregory was beginning to think that maybe Circe wanted something more than just what he was paying her. Gregory watched the sorceress as she turned away from him, tapping a long nailed finger against her chin. She was wearing a russet colored silk robe that was barely staying closed, giving Gregory hints of smooth soft skin, the slender slope of a shoulder, the fullness of a breast. While his gaze lingered on her, despite his anger, Gregory's body reacted to her. Her dark hair was worn over one shoulder, sliding down over her shoulder like a serpent. She was gorgeous and poisonous. He smirked at himself. He did always like the nasty girls. 

Circe turned and called out, clapping her hands in three hard slaps. “Sukie, Ophelia, Ursula.” 

Three extremely attractive young women came out from behind a heavy, red velvet curtain. Each one was different, a dark skinned blonde, her skin reminding Gregory of warm milk chocolate, a brunette with creamy skin that reminded him of sugared cream, and another with red hair and freckles, milk with cinnamon sprinkled on the top, all of them naked, all of them stunning. They walked past him, their bodies brushing up against Gregory as they walked by, and came to a stop in front of Circe. 

Circe smiled at each of them reaching out to stroke the cheek of each one. “I need you to go to a house...any seals should already be broken, so getting in shouldn’t be an issue. I want you to clean away all evidence of the attack. Do you understand?” 

The three young women answered together, “Yes mistress.” 

“Good, now hurry. You must finish before the police arrive, and hurry--we don’t have much time.” Circe flicked her fingers. The three women spun away and simply vanished. 

Gregory’s eyes widened. “What...what did you do?” The sorceress kept showing him abilities beyond anything he thought he should ever be mixed up in. 

Circe frowned, her eyes darting over to him as if only remembering he was there. “They are Lilim that have pledged their service to me. I did nothing except send them on a mission. Now...you and I are going to the hospital to see your sister.” 

“Why?” Gregory asked in confusion as Circe walked past him, slipping out of her robe at the same time. Gregory smirked, his eyes roaming down her naked backside. She pulled out a long green dress from the wardrobe in the corner of her room. 

She slipped the dress over her head and wiggled into it while Gregory watched with appreciation. The dress fell down around her and seemed to hug her figure, as if the cloth were clinging to her skin. The dress left little to the imagination with twin slits on either hip that plunged from her hips to her feet. The front of the dress had an equally deep slit that plunged between her breasts to her belly. 

Smiling, Circe ran her hands down her figure as she turned and walked toward Gregory. 

“Because we need the authorities to believe she is crazy, and to do that we have to actually drive her crazy.” She patted his cheek. “It’s much harder to convince people you’re sane if you aren't.” She draped her arms along Gregory’s shoulders. “See my dear, here is the mistake you made: your sister isn’t actually insane.” She began to caress his jaw line with the fingertips of one hand. “And because of that, she could probably convince the doctors of her sanity--not to mention the fact she is a practicing psychiatrist--but if she is actually insane…” She had been gazing at his lips before her eyes popped up to his eyes. “You can’t just tell them she’s unstable and expect them to take your word for it. You need to show them. Now, if I had my way, this would have gone on for a few more days until I had her broken, seeing spooks and monsters in every shadow, but since you had to open your big mouth…” Circe grabbed Gregory’s face between her thumb and fingers and squeezed, forcing his lips to jut out. “... this will have to be a rush job.” Her eyes flashed as she looked at him. “Now shut up, follow me, and do everything I say. Your sister will be in Arkham by tomorrow evening and the house and everything she owns will be yours.” 

Gregory nodded. “Just tell me what to do,” he mumbled between his fished out lips. 

Circe released him with a smile and patted his cheek. “Good boy.” 

* 

Joker arrived at Harley’s house just in time to see the detectives leaving. He had been about to cross the street, having had Frost park down far enough that the cops shouldn’t see them. The door to the house opened, giving Joker barely enough time to throw himself into some bushes and wait, counting to himself until he heard their vehicle pull away. Popping his head above the damp foliage, Joker watched the police leave through his goggles. He narrowed his eyes at the car’s retreating lights. 

He stuck his tongue out at them before jumping out of the bushes and racing toward the house. Moving carefully, Joker reached the front porch and opened the door slowly, looking around to make sure he wasn't being watched by nosy neighbors. Just before he slipped inside, Joker looked down at the door. Something had been bothering him the moment he had raced up the stairs, but now he realized what it was… 

He saw no blood on the door or its frame, which he knew for a fact there should have been. His blood, Harley’s blood, the ghoul’s blood, but the door and its frame looked just fine with just the average wear and tear a front door--owned by a reasonably well-to-do couple--would normally display. 

Frowning with confusion and a tiny flame of anger, Joker pushed the door open and slipped inside. 

The house was dark, but his goggles helped with that, amplifying his night vision. As he made his way up the stairs, tracing the path of the fight in reverse, Joker saw nothing, no blood, no smudges on the floor, nothing broken. It was as if nothing at all had happened. 

Growling Joker spun around, looking at the floor, but no evidence of a fight was to be seen. 

“Fucking dirty cops!” he hissed as he spun around and leapt down the stairs skipping two at a time until he hit the ground and rushed through into the chilled night air. He hated to bother Harley again; she needed her rest, but she needed to know what was happening and that she couldn’t trust the cops! 

* 

Bullock sighed leaning back in his seat looking tired and extremely unhappy. 

“You want me to call him?” Rene asked softly as she started the car. 

“Nah, I’ll do it, but nothing says we have to call him tonight,” Bullock muttered. “Let the poor girl get a good night's rest before we ruin her life, if that's okay with you?” 

Montoya smiled, turning her gaze back to the road. “That’s okay with me.” 

Bullock smiled laying his hands across his protruding belly. It wasn’t that bad yet, mostly along the lines of what the ladies called a “Dad Bod,” but if he wasn’t careful… 

“Good, let that prick of a brother wait as long as possible,” he said and leaned back, closing his eyes. 

Montoya smiled. Never had she agreed with her partner more. 

* 

Circe and Gregory stood in Harleen’s hospital room. They were both invisible to the staff, and to Harleen. Next to him, Circe dug into the pouch she wore at her hip, a bag that reminded him of a bag his mother used to carry. When she pulled her hand free, the sorceress held a syringe with a silver needle that caught the pale light from the monitors in the room. The liquid inside was a caustic looking shade of pink that made Gregory want to dry heave just looking at it. 

Wrapping her hand around the syringe, Circe spoke in a whisper. “This will get us the results we want. It’s dangerous and works quickly, something I brewed myself after I was able to get a sample of the Scarecrow’s fear toxin. The effects won’t last long, but they will be intense.” 

“Will it kill her?” Gregory asked quietly as he stood at the foot of Harleen’s bed looking down at her sleeping form. For a moment, he felt a pang of regret, a trickle of guilt. His sister looked young, resting on her side, her hair a soft tangled mess around her head. She had her hands together and tucked under her cheek, her legs pulled up. For just a moment Gregory remembered holding his sister’s hand as the two of them ran through a field of daisies at Robinson Park. 

“If you wanted to kill her, this would be a great deal easier.” Circe smiled sideways at him. “But your contract with me says to drive her crazy, which is exactly what I’m going to do.” 

Circe reached out and took Gregory’s hand in hers. She placed the syringe against his palm and wrapped his fingers around it. “Now, go inject that into her IV.” 

Gregory looked down at the syringe. “Me?” 

“Yes, you,” Circe hissed. 

“But you…” He started to say only to have Circe grab Gregory by the shoulder with one hand, her nails biting into his skin even through his clothing. Gregory yelped in pain, bending to the side as Circe applied pressure. “This has to be done by you, Gregory. The magic weaved with that chemical substance is quite specific.” 

“Okay, okay!” Gregory hissed in pain. 

Circe let him go and gave him a shove. “Go.” 

Gregory walked over to the IV that held a bag of clear fluid which was being pumped into his sister at a slow, yet steady place. He looked down at her again, that feeling of guilt mixed with the long dead affection he held for her started to raise its head, tightening like a ball of pain in his chest. But then all he had to do to banish the feeling was to think of the debts he owed, the fact that his parents had cut him out, that Harleen was their favorite… 

He grabbed the syringe and plunged it into the tube that ran from the bag of fluid, slamming down the plunger and watched as the sickly pink liquid flooded the clear tubing, turning the contents that same sick color before it faded away. 

Gregory took several steps back only to run into the Circe who put a hand on his shoulder again. “There. Now...wait, and witness.” Circe chuckled softly. “And soon everything you desire will be yours.” 

Gregory became aware of becoming visible; it was like a itch over every inch of his skin. He also at knew Circe had left him, felt the moment she was gone, the pressure of her presence just vanished. Simultaneously, the empty syringe in his hand disappeared as well. 

That was when Harleen screamed. 

* 

Joker muttered to himself as he moved once more through the hospital wrapped tightly in his cloak, playing a game of dodge the clown with the unsuspecting hospital staff while he headed toward Harley’s room. It was early morning, the sky just beginning to lighten, far too early for him to still be up. Frost had pointed out the time to him, but it couldn’t be helped. Joker had needed to stop at her house and, after what he had discovered, he needed to see her one more time before she was released...hopefully. 

As he dodged a couple of nurses before slinking into the stairwell (many people used the stairs) he sighed with annoyance. At this rate he was going to exhaust the spell of invisibly on his cloak. 

The poor thing only had so many charges it could hold and he had used almost half just tonight!! 

But Harley was worth it he thought with a smile and he found he meant it. He was a very selfish man (he was aware of his shortcomings), but Harleen was so different from anyone else he had ever met. She made him feel things he had never felt before, things he wanted to understand more, explore more. He would do anything to spend more time with her. 

Even use up the magic on his cloak, he realized with a small smile. 

When he finally arrived at Harley’s door he looked around and slowly pushed the door open with his fingertips. It was a difficult balance to move something gently enough without disturbing his invisibility spell, but just as he pushed the door open he heard Harley’s scream. 

On the other side of the door, Joker saw Gregory--who shouldn’t have been there this late--facing Harley’s bed and in the bed lay Harley. 

She was holding her head and screaming. 

* 

When Harleen had awakened, it was because she had felt a burn in her blood. It was as if her blood was fire speeding through her veins to her heart where her entire chest exploded into a painful conflagration. She woke up with a scream, grabbing for her chest except there was no fire. Her eyes widened in confusion as she stared down at her chest, but it was perfectly fine, the gown she wore untouched by fire. Slowly Harleen looked around the room. She started to sweat, her heartbeat had risen so fast that it was hard to think, hard to hear, but she swore she heard a voice, whispering voice, chittering sometimes right by her ear, sometimes across the room. 

Moving her head quickly enough that Harleen made herself dizzy, she looked one way, then the other trying to trace the voices, but they kept moving, slipping away only to come close and whispering words she couldn’t understand, hissing and chittering at her… 

Harleen sucked in a breath, her voice trembling with anger and confusion as she grabbed her head, digging her fingers into her scalp. “Stop it!” she screamed. 

The whispers faded. 

She turned her head to the side and that was when she saw it, something under the wall. It was just a small bulge of something under the paint. She stared at it for a few seconds before it started to move, crawling along the wall just under the paint, making the paint crack with its movements. Harleen scrambled back in her bed, her eyes widening, sparkling with a feverish glow as she followed the trail of whatever was under the paint, in the wall. It would move slowly, stop, then suddenly burst to life, move swiftly, then stop again. As her eyes tracked it, others began to appear in various sizes and shapes, all under the paint, but moving in quick, agitated movements under the paint. 

Her body was covered in sweat, her breathing becoming ragged as her eyes traveled up to the ceiling where more of the creatures, hidden in the wall, moved. The whispers returned again, voices that she couldn’t quite hear, couldn't quite understand. Male voices, female voices, children, all of them whispering, chittering, and hissing at her. She would hear her name here and there among the gibberish, pleas, and screams. “Harleen!! Harleen...Harley…” 

She kicked the blankets off staring at the walls. “Stop it!!!” she screamed holding her hands over her ears as she began to sob. “Stop it!” 

She felt something brush along the skin of her arm. Harleen jerked, trying to back away, but limited by the bed. Again she felt movement on her skin, then in her skin. 

The first slithering movement under her skin raced up her arm to her shoulders. Harleen jerked, twisting as her body suddenly became flooded with the sensation of things under her skin, in her blood nipping at her, wiggling, and twisting. Trembling, her eyes wide, Harleen held her arms out. 

Something moved under the skin of her arms, something long and thick. 

Harleen let out a blood curdling scream and began to tear at her arm. 

* 

Joker watched in horror when Harley’s head whipped back and forth as if she was hearing something that wasn’t there. Then she started to yell before she broke down into gut-wrenching sobs. 

He ached to rush over to her and wrap his arms around her, but he didn’t move. 

When she looked up again, her eyes were tracking something he couldn’t see, darting quickly back and forth, following something along the walls and ceilings. Her eyes were too shiny, as if her eyes were absorbing all the light in the room. Her pupils were dilated until they were nearly all black, the blue just a thin rim around the solid black of her pupil. He could see that she was sweating; her hospital gown had become soaked in just the few seconds it had taken him to get into the room without Gregory noticing him. The gown stuck to her because she was sweating so much. Harley’s entire body was shaking too, hell her bed was creaking with the violence of her shuddering. He moved into a corner of the room with no idea what he should do or what was going on. He knew no spells or potions that would help in this situation, whatever was going on with her. 

And he felt scared. 

Joker never felt scared, but Harley was scaring him. He was scared of what was happening and scared for her. He hated, hated with a vengeance, that he was stuck as a shadow, unable to help her, only able to watch. Joker felt something he hadn’t felt in ages, not since the moment he woke up and found himself like this...he felt sick to his stomach. 

* 

Gregory, who was watching Harley, his eyes wide with shock at her behavior and fear, was definitely feeling the cold fingers of fear trickling through his blood. He finally seemed to come out of his trance when Harley dragged her fingernails down her arms, ripping her own skin, blood welling up from the self-inflicted wounds. The sight of her blood broke the spell he was under and he rushed forward, the concern in his voice real for a moment. 

“Harleen!” 

She started to cry with the deep, hiccuping sobs of a scared child while also trying to tear open the wounds she had caused in her arm (Joker watched, trembling, his need to wrap his arms around so strong he almost buckled, but he knew--he knew just as sure as anything--his appearance would only make things worse and might put him somewhere he couldn’t get to her.) 

“They're in my skin!!!” she cried out, but Joker didn’t think she realized that her brother was in the room with her. She looked to be gazing right through him. Her cry was just one of anguish and pain, a cry to anyone listening. 

Gregory rushed over to her side and grabbed Harley’s arms, trying to hold them away from her so she would stop hurting herself. Harleen struggled, sobbing, but she was still weak from her wounds which allowed Gregory to hold her arms down. 

“Harleen now stop…” His voice trembled. He was really scared Joker realized. “NURSE!!” Gregory yelled. “I NEED A NURSE!!!” 

It took every fiber of Joker’s self-control, every ounce of strength he had for Joker not to rush to her, not to wrap his arms around her to stop her from hurting herself and carry her away. He could take her to his church where he could keep safe, hide her away from everything and everyone. He didn’t understand what was happening to her, but after the ghoul attack, her brother trying to put her in Arkham, the fucking cops and now this, whatever episode she was having was connected to that ghoul attack, to the ghost of her father. And he was sure all of it led straight to her brother. 

But right now Joker was helpless to aid her unless he wanted to turn this situation into a bloodbath. He knew all about being insane, dealing with madness. He could guide her though this if she really was going mad. He swallowed down tears that stung his eyes, another surprise reaction to Harley, but if given a chance, he would save her. 

The only thing that stopped him was knowing he couldn’t get her out of the hospital without them being seen and both of them being caught. There were too many people working here, between doctors and security guards and even this early in the morning when there weren’t any visitors, people going in and out of the hospital were just too many for him to try to slip her out. If he had time to plan maybe, but he just didn’t have the resources at hand. 

Joker held his fist to his chest as his heart clenched painfully. The thought that he was going to have to leave her here was horrible. He needed to stay, he wanted to stay with her at least to learn what was happening to Harley. 

But as the first nurse rushed in and started to yell for a doctor, he knew he had to leave or be caught. Joker would have to find another way, another time, to help Harley. 

* 

Gregory struggled to hold Harleen’s arms. She was way stronger than she first appeared and she had scraped herself up badly. She was getting blood everywhere, all over herself and him, causing them both to look ghoulish. She had started to scream again, the her voice becoming higher, ear splitting, and she started to kick, fighting him with all her strength. This close, her skin felt clammy, hot, and it was bright red. 

The nurse that came in at Gregory’s call helped him hold Harleen down even as she kicked her feet. “WE NEED A DOCTOR!!” 

Another nurse came in, saw what was going on, and rushed away. A few moments later more nurses came in followed by a young male doctor who rushed over and checked Harleen’s eyes while ordering nurses to secure her. 

He glanced over at Gregory in surprise, clearing realizing that he shouldn’t be here, but instead he asked. “Relation?” 

“I’m her brother,” Gregory said, calming now that someone else was here to take care of his sister and the realization that he was about to get what he wanted, Harleen admitted to Arkham. The house and everything in it would be his… 

“I’m her brother. She had a psychotic break earlier this evening, and was seeing things at our family home. I had her brought in because she hurt herself, but…” While he was speaking the doctor was giving orders. A nurse had left then returned with a syringe which she injected into his sister’s IV. Almost immediately, Harleen began to calm. 

Gregory swallowed as he looked over at his sister. Her hair was a tangled mess of gold around her face and head, her eyes were mostly closed and she was muttering. Blood stained her gown, her face and her hair. She looked like some sort of macabre doll--a pretty, broken doll. 

Gregory tore his eyes away from Harleen and focused on the prize. “I slipped in to see her again, I was worried and well…” He gestured at his now still sister. “She had another break…” He was even able to bring up tears that were not entirely fake. “I...we just lost our parents...it’s been rough on her and now...she’s seeing things. I just want her to get well.” He looked to the doctor. “I think I need to commit her.” 

The doctor nodded as he stepped back, letting the nurses begin cleaning Harleen and wrapping her arms. “After I get her blood work, I think observation at the asylum would be a good idea.” 

Gregory brought his hand up to cover his mouth in order to conceal his smile.


	8. Arkham

After Harleen had been sedated and removed from the hospital, Joker had run out of the building in a panic with no idea what he was going to do. For the moment he drew a blank, couldn’t think, could only react--and his reaction verged on panic. He never panicked! EVER!! But the thought of Harley in that place had him ready to climb the walls! He just couldn’t leave her there... His memory where the asylum was concerned was scattered; he sometimes remembered being in the asylum. Those memories usually came to him as nightmares, fragmented, frightening visions that had him waking covered in sweat, his heart racing. At other times he completely forgot about ever being in the asylum, forgot about the place entirely as if it never existed. Sometimes when he did remember, he was there as a doctor, working to help patients, except in those memories or dreams he didn’t look himself, which always forced him to wake up confused. Other memories or dreams he had of being at Arkham as a patient. Those memories were of being tortured, brutal shock therapy, drugs, psychic surgeries, being boiled alive, pain, isolation; those were the feelings that the name Arkham brought tumbling back to his rattled mind. 

But then, like smoke, the memories and the nightmares would disappear, only to return when he least expected them. 

He wasn’t sure if he wasn’t remembering or if he was purposely forgetting Arkham Asylum… 

It was always so hard to say and he found that he would rather not dwell on the subject of the asylum. Either way the name of Arkham Asylum always made him feel slightly queasy and off center, as if he had left something of himself there--not that he was ever on center. 

He really hated that feeling. 

But the turmoil Joker felt now was worse because Harley was going there!! Joker felt a building rage at the thought of her being there, alone. His fury made him see only red. 

* 

Frost waited in the car, the book he was reading contently glowed from its internal light casting his features in a pale blue light, when Joker yanked the door open and threw himself into the back seat. Frost jumped in surprise, dropping his book and shorting out the light. 

“Boss, everything all right?” Frost asked when Joker sat up. His hat had toppled off and Joker and ripped off his goggles as he reached out and slammed the car door shut. Frost could see Joker’s pale face in the dim light from the hospital parking lot where they were parked. Joker looked spooked, an emotion he’d only seen on Joker’s face a handful of times. Joker didn’t get normally get spooked, but when he did that meant something really bad was lurking about. 

Joker leaned forward and hissed. “They took her to Arkham!” He shook the seat and yelled, panic turning to anger. “They took her to ARKHAM!!” 

“What?” Frost turned in his seat to look Joker in the face. “Arkham? Why…” 

Joker growled, digging his fingers into the leather of the seats. “It’s her fucking brother! I know he did something to her. She was seeing things...” Joker’s voice broke for a moment forcing him to take a deep breath. “He did something to her, I know he did…” 

Frost knew all about Arkham Asylum. The place had a reputation, at least among those in the lower levels of Gotham City’s society, the undesirable. People disappeared from Arkham all the time. Rumors swirled around Gotham’s underbelly that there were things going on inside the bowels of Arkham Asylum, terrible things, unethical experiments, torture, murder… 

For the wealthy, the asylum was a place to dump undesirable relatives or people who got in the way. The wealthy paid to keep that asylum going, to keep whatever went on there quiet, hidden underneath a veneer of helping the unfortunate who had suffered a mental break or magical burn. Just enough people were helped by Arkham Asylum and its staff to keep anyone from sniffing around too much. 

The place was filled with secrets. 

Frost also knew about all the times Joker had been in the asylum even if Joker didn't seem to remember those times himself. Frost never said anything, knew that Joker would periodically forget about his time there and the things he’d seen. Frost wasn’t clear on everything that went on in Arkham, but he knew that place was awful. 

His brow creased as Frost asked. “You think he put her in there to get her out of the way? Does he want the house, or at least what is inside it?” He would never ask if Joker thought if Dr. Quinzel was actually insane; he was very sensitive about the use of the word insanity. 

Hissing through his teeth Joker murmured. “His parents’ lab…” He shook his head and growled. “I need to get her out…” Joker sat back, muttering more to himself than to Frost. “I need to find a way to get her out of there.” 

Frost turned around fully to look at Joker. “What do you want to do Boss?” 

“Take me to Ivy’s Plants and Herbs,” Joker said with narrowed eyes. 

Frost’s eyes widened. Joker must be truly upset if he wanted to speak to Ivy, but he didn’t ask any questions. Instead Frost started the car and headed out into the night. 

* 

Part of her knew she was dreaming. Everything around her had a sort of floating feeling, as if she was drifting in a cloud of wobbling puffiness. She hovered in a skyblue pink colored sky and even the clouds were soft shades of barely there pink. It was rather pleasant Harleen thought, the wobbliness wasn’t too bad, and she didn’t really have to do anything except float in it being weightless, which was nice. There was no pain, no worry, just a light, calm feeling. 

Maybe she was on drugs she thought with a grin. 

After what seemed like forever and only a second, Harleen saw someone else here with her. Her eyes widened with pleasure as she saw Joker, swimming through the puffy clouds toward her, doing the butterfly stroke, smiling brightly. He was wearing a tuxedo, his green hair slicked back from his pale face and ruby red lips, except for that one curl that made her want to reach out and twist the curl around her finger. Biting her bottom lip with a grin, watching him swim closer, Harleen thought about wrapping her finger around the curl, pulling him closer to her and maybe kissing him. This was a dream after all, so why shouldn’t she kiss him? 

Joker slowed to a stop in front of her, the tails of his tux floated lazily behind him like a tail. The smile on his face was so damn sexy, she thought, a dangerous smile that only strengthened her desire to kiss him. She’d been a virgin for a long time, too long really, she thought with a wry smirk at herself. She wasn’t the type of girl who had kissed a lot of men--not that many men had really showed up in her life that made her want to kiss them--but Joker...he made her want to do all sorts of things. 

Harleen bit her bottom lip, smiled at him, her eyes raking over his slender form, and she thought about the fact that no man had made her want to strip naked before, but Joker on the other hand. Oh, she wanted to strip him naked and take her time running her tongue over every inch of him. 

She wanted to strip them both naked, rub herself all over his body, to see those pale, elegant hands of his on her skin, to see the contrast of his pale, milky white flesh against her slight pinker skin, to feel his hands on her breasts, his mouth... 

Giggling Harleen blushed at her thoughts all while telling herself not to be so silly. This was her dream, she could imagine whatever she wanted here! 

Joker came closer to her, his blue eyes fixed on Harleen with desire apparent in his gaze. She reached out, wrapping that curl around her finger, tugging him closer. His blue eyes twinkled at her, his smile widened, showing off his perfect white teeth, as he grabbed her around her waist and pulled her closer. 

“Harley…” He said her name in a sing song while his hands flowed up her naked waist. She looked down to see they were both naked. 

“I want to do things do you…” he said quietly, and Harleen felt certain that she never heard anything sexier than his voice. “...things you’ve only ever dreamed about…” 

Harleen giggled running her hands along his naked chest. “I want to do things to you I’ve only ever dreamed about…” 

Joker chuckled rubbing his nose against hers, his blue eyes twinkled. “Do you want to suck my…” 

* 

Returning to consciousness was like swimming through thick, heavy liquid, too hard, and too much trouble. She wanted to return to her dream, she wanted to hear what Joker was going to say to her, to see him naked again, but now that she had started to come awake, despite her best efforts, she simply couldn’t stop the process of waking up, no matter how hard it was. 

It was a goddamn struggle. 

Something kept pulling Harleen back down, not into her dream, but into darkness. Her head was foggy and it hurt to swim, which made her wonder...maybe she shouldn’t just stay in the darkness? It wasn’t the really nice dream she was having, but the darkness was safe, she didn’t have to feel anything, she didn’t have to know anything. In the darkness her parents were still alive, her brother wasn’t an awful human being, she was home... 

Joker was there too, his red lipped smile and strange blue eyes filling her vision, causing her heart to race and her mind to wonder what the possibilities of getting to know this strange man that her parents trusted would be like. In the darkness, it was possible. All of these things were possible and maybe the darkness would lead her back to the wobbly, fluffy dream... 

But just as she decided to sink back into the safe, warm darkness, Harleen began swimming through the heavy liquid, gaining speed until her eyes suddenly fluttered open. 

At first she couldn’t see anything, her vision was blurry, and her head felt as if it weighed a ton; the very idea of lifting her head seemed impossible. Instead, Harleen closed her eyes again, trying to chase down the darkness and let herself sink again, but it wasn’t working. The darkness was fading more and more, the liquid heaviness was fading until she had to accept she was awake. 

Once she was awake, Harleen was forced to acknowledge that her head was pounding and her body hurt all over. She attempted to move, to reach up and rub her eyes, to sit up, but the fact that she couldn’t move at all came crashing into her consciousness. Trying to keep her groan of pain and confusion quiet, Harleen opened her eyes again. She had to blink a few times, the light in the room blinded her for a moment, forcing her to close her eyes again. Opening her eyes slowly, keeping her eyes narrowed, allowed her to gradually adjust to the light and focus. She still felt off, as if her body and mind were both heavy, probably because of whatever sedative they’d given her she surmised. The moment she thought about being sedated, everything came rushing back to her, the monster she had fought with Joker, her brother, the hospital… 

That was when her mind cleared enough for Harleen to realize that she was in a straightjacket strapped down to a bed. She looked around slowly, assessing her situation as the fogginess in her mind faded a little more. She was in a small, completely white room. The walls looked like they were soft and padded, which only made the slow knot that had begun to form in her stomach tighten more. The light was coming from a small overhead light that was flush with the ceiling. There was a toilet in the corner with a sink next to it and nothing else. 

Just as panic began to set in, the door to the room opened. 

Harleen went still, watched as a man and a woman, both wearing doctor’s coats, walked into her room. The man was an attractive Chinese man with a short, black, Amish-style beard and a pair of perfectly round glasses perched on the end of his nose. He wasn’t very tall and his head so perfectly bald that the skin shone in the room’s light. Next to him the woman was perhaps an inch shorter, with shoulder-length dark, reddish brown hair pulled back a little too tightly--causing the woman’s hairline to have receded back--and held with a clip at the nape of her neck. She was younger than the man with her, but still a little older looking than Harleen. Her face looked unremarkable, the sort of face that was forgettable the moment she was out of sight. Both of them were carrying clipboards, which immediately made Harleen feel even more uncomfortable. She never did like old fashioned clipboards since they reminded her too much of some of her old school teachers, the sort who liked to punish the entire class for the crime of one student. And she had found in her own career that professors and doctors who favored clipboards usually tended to be assholes. 

These two had ‘asshole’ written all over them. 

Behind the two doctors came a young blonde nurse in a pink nurse’s uniform, who looked nervous and standoffish, who clearly would rather be anywhere than here. The outfit was so pale that the only reason Harleen could discern the color was that the overhead light highlighted the tint. Next to the nurse was an orderly, taller than anyone in the room with wide shoulders and a square jaw. His hair was buzzed in such a way that his head looked as if it was square shaped instead of round. The big man made Harleen think of a convict rather than a hospital orderly. 

The man with the beard walked over to Harleen and smiled. 

“It’s nice to see you are awake Dr. Quinzel.” The man smiled at her, but there was a hint of condescension in his smile that immediately made Harleen hate him. She’d seen that sort of smile plenty of times during her career. “I am Dr. Hugo Strange and my partner is Dr. Penelope Young. We are both going to be your doctors while you are with us Dr. Quinzel. May I call you Harleen? Calling you Dr. Quinzel seems a little awkward since you are not here in a professional capacity.” Strange smiled at Harleen in a way that made her simply want to punch him in the face. She also noticed that he didn’t introduce the orderly or the nurse; clearly he didn’t see them as important, probably saw them as cogs in the machine of the asylum, easily replaceable. Dr. Young was giving her that same condescending look, but with a trace of pity which only fueled Harleen’s temper. Biting her tongue to stop herself from saying anything that would get her in trouble, Harleen ignored the doctor’s question and instead asked her own. 

“Where am I?” Harleen glanced at the nurse and the orderly before turning her attention back to Strange and Young. She made sure that she laid still in the bed she was strapped to. The urge to struggle against her bonds was strong, but she knew struggling would only make her look bad and would accomplish nothing but to wear herself out, and give the doctors and her brother exactly what they wanted. 

“You have been brought to Arkham Asylum to be our guest for the next seventy-two hours.” He smiled at her and added, “For observation.” Strange glanced down at his clipboard. “Your brother is quite worried about you,” he murmured as he read whatever notes he had written on his papers before he glanced at her again. “He said that you haven’t been the same since the sudden death of both your parents.” Strange looked back at his clipboard, then up again to Harleen, lifting his brows at her over the top of his glasses. Dr. Young simply stood next to him unmoving, never looking at her clipboard, but her gaze never wavered from Harleen. 

It was uncomfortable. 

Harleen wasn’t even sure that the woman had blinked at all. Maybe she was a lizard and would lick her eyeballs at any moment. A giggle at the thought threatened to bubble up and make Harleen dissolve into a fit of giggles. She knew her urge to giggle was a nervous response to the ridiculousness of her situation, so she struggled to swallow them. 

Glancing back at Dr. Young, who had remained quiet, Harleen looked back to Strange, giving herself another couple of seconds to compose herself before she spoke. “I’m upset about my parents’ death, yes. Who wouldn’t be? They died suddenly under strange circumstances, but my brother is wrong about my mental health.” She spoke clearly and calmly despite the fact that she was raging on the inside. “I am fine.” 

Strange nodded, looking at some papers on his clipboard making Harleen wonder why on earth they were not using WaynePads or some other electronic device, unless the asylum couldn’t afford them or the doctors here just knew instinctively that clipboards and papers made their patients uncomfortable. 

“According to the police and your doctors at the hospital, you stated that you were attacked by a…” He looked over the papers again, making Harleen tense. He was waiting to say what was written down to make her squirm. Asshole Harleen thought so she said out loud, her voice steady. 

“A ghoul.” 

Strange glanced over at her again and nodded with just the hint of a smile. “Yes, a talking ghoul. Is that true?” 

Harleen pressed her lips together unsure how she should proceed. Telling the truth would only make them doubt her sanity, but lying would be, well, lying and they might see through that. Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t. For the first time in her life, Harleen hated her brother. She had been disappointed in him, hurt by him, but right now, he had put her in an asylum and she hated him for it. 

“I was attacked by a ghoul, that is true,” Harleen said, glancing between the two doctors trying to keep herself calm. 

Strange nodded, pulling out a pen from the pocket of his coat and wrote something down. “It also says here that you said there were things…” He looked over at her again, waiting for her to react, but Harleen kept her mouth closed and Strange continued. “...things, under your skin...in your blood…” 

Harleen paled. She remembered that, remembered feeling things under her skin, moving along her bones, wiggling against her nerves. She gave an involuntary shudder at the memory before she spoke. “I don’t know what that was…” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. She didn’t know what had caused that, but it had been very real and very frightening. 

Strange simply nodded, making some more notes on his clipboard. Harleen really hated that clipboard. 

Harleen waited patiently, or as patiently as she could, while Strange made notes and Dr. Young just watched her, studying her as if she was a bug under a glass. The nurse and orderly just stared at her too. While the nurse looked concerned, the orderly looked as if he was sizing her up to eat her. Harleen found the whole situation and the people here unnerving. 

“Can I get out of this jacket?” she asked softly, directing her question at Strange. 

Strange looked up at her, his pen poised over the papers on his clipboard. “I suppose we can let you loose Harleen, if you promise not to try and hurt yourself.” 

“I promise,” she murmured hopefully, at the same time hating the way the Dr. Strange kept using her given name as if she was a toddler. 

For the first time Dr. Young spoke up, glancing between Harleen and Dr. Strange. “Do you think that is a good idea Dr. Strange?” 

Strange had gone back to scribbling on his papers, looked over at Dr. Young, and smiled. “Yes.” He glanced at Harleen smiling a little wider, though he kept his lips tightly together a moment. “I believe Dr. Quinzel will behave herself, won’t you Harleen?” 

Harleen hated the paternal tone in Dr. Strange’s voice, but she nodded meekly. “Yes.” 

Strange gestured at the orderly. “Henry, go unstrap Miss Harleen and remove her jacket. If you are feeling up to it, I’ll have something hot to drink brought to you, maybe something to eat too?” 

Harleen nodded and whispered. “Thank you.” 

Henry said nothing as he walked around the two doctors and went about unstrapping Harleen from the bed. Once she was unstrapped he yanked her up by the front of the straightjacket, twisted her around on the bed roughly until her legs were hanging over and began to work at the straps behind her. Once the straps were loose he shoved the jacket over her shoulders and down, but he also ran his fingers down along her back. The touch made Harleen tense up, but she said nothing. Henry finished removing the jacket, throwing it over his shoulder and walked back to stand behind Dr. Strange. 

Dr. Strange smiled his tight lipped smile at her. “Better?” 

Harleen nodded, though she noticed now that she could sit up and wasn’t in the jacket that someone had changed her clothing, put her in a patient’s uniform, a loose fitting pair of pants, a short sleeved, loose fitting v-neck top and a pair of thick, socks. Every piece, she noted, was a pristine snow white. The fact that someone had changed her clothing while she was sedated made her feel violated. Wrapping her arms around herself, Harleen silently nodded. 

“Good. Well, tonight we’ll let you rest and tomorrow we can have a little talk. If you seem stable, I’ll let you join the general population of patients. I think mingling might do you some good Harleen.” Strange gave her his tight lipped smile again. “Sometimes the best medicine is knowing that you are not alone.” He turned and everyone took that as a sign to leave. “I’ll have the nurse return with some hot tea and some biscuits for you.” Strange stopped at the door, turning to smile one more time. 

“Thank you,” Harleen said softly to which he nodded and brought her door closed. 

Harleen resisted the urge to jump up and rush to the door to see if it was unlocked, but she knew it wasn’t. Swallowing hard, she looked around the padded room, her arms tight around herself. She told herself that she wasn’t going to cry, but even as she tried to convince herself not to, tears began to gather at the corners of her eyes and slowly leaked down across her cheeks. As a doctor herself, Harleen knew it was much, much harder to prove you were sane than to prove you were insane. Her chin trembled, the tears flowing down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. 

How could her brother have done this...how could he? 

* 

Harleen wasn’t sure what time it was when she woke up, though she hadn’t been sure what time it was when she had been brought to Arkham or when she had fallen asleep. The nurse had returned with some biscuits, tea, and a little cup of pills that must have been sleeping pills because the next thing Harleen was aware of was waking up when the door to her room opened and she saw Henry, the creepy orderly from earlier, and a different nurse. The nurse was older than the one from last night, with greying brown hair and bright blue eyes, her hair styled in victory rolls. Her nurses outfit was the same soft pink as the nurse from the night before, but where the younger nurse had been in scrubs, this one wore an older style nurse’s dress. 

The woman smiled kindly at her even as the orderly behind her leered. “Dr. Harleen Quinzel?” 

Harleen was sitting on her bed, her legs up, her arms wrapped around her folded legs as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible. “Yes?” 

The nurse smiled a little wider. “May I call you Harleen? Not to be disrespectful, but it would be much nicer if we could be on a first name basis. I’m Dorothy, Dorothy Duncan. This is Henry…” Henry winked at her, but Dorothy didn’t seem to notice as she continued speaking. “I’m the head nurse here at Arkham, I’ll be who you go through with complaints, questions about your medications, activities, visitors, phone calls, etc. I’m pretty much the ocean to which all rivers in the asylum flow.” She chuckled and smiled. The woman had a nice smile Harleen noticed, a smile that reached all the way to her eyes and set her at ease. 

“I thought we’d take you to shower first, then some breakfast where you can meet some of the other patients that you’ll be sharing this floor with while you’re under observation.” Dorothy smiled again, but Henry leered at her when Dorothy mentioned a shower. 

Harleen’s gaze went to Henry, but Dorothy smiled again. “Don’t worry about Henry, he’ll not be accompanying us to the showers, as long as you behave yourself.” 

Harleen nodded. “I would like a shower.” 

“Well good.” Dorothy nodded and motioned at Henry. “Get the chair please, Henry.” 

“I can walk…” Harleen began, but Dorothy cut her off. “Yes, but for your first time in the halls I prefer the chair, just so you can have a little tour without wearing yourself out.” Dorothy stepped aside as Henry, who had popped out, returned with a wheelchair. Harleen figured the real reason was that the chair made it easier to control her, but she didn’t say anything as Dorothy took the wheelchair and pushed it closer to Harleen. 

“Hop on my dear.” Dorothy smiled at Harleen. 

With a sigh of resignation, Harleen sat down in the wheelchair. 

* 

The showers were not large open facilities like she feared, but individual stalls that gave her a tiny bit of privacy which was a relief. Standing naked under the water while Dorothy watched her shower (Henry, despite all his leering had to wait outside) was only slightly unnerving, but at least when she was in here again, she wouldn’t have to be under the watchful eye of other patients. Bathing with strangers was uncomfortable, something Harleen had struggled with in highschool and when she was a gymnast. The other girls had always teased her about how shy she was. Harleen washed her body and hair with the provided soap and shampoo/conditioner combo that the asylum provided, neither of which had any scent to them. Harleen dressed in fresh patient clothing of the same bleached white as before, but this time with the addition of white slip-on tennis shoes, her hair brushed free of tangles and allowed to air dry, Dorothy and Henry wheeled her into the cafeteria. 

“Each ward has their own cafeteria, and this is ours,” Dorothy said proudly. 

The room wasn’t very big, Harleen saw. The walls were painted that industry shade of bluish green that wasn’t really a color Harleen thought, more the hint of a color. The room was filled with the typical park bench type of cafeteria tables, dull brown, beat-up and damaged from years of use all lined up in rows that ran the length of the room. Less than half of the benches held a handful of patients, all dressed like she was in white. 

As she was wheeled into the room some of the patients looked over, but most seemed uninterested in her. Some were eating breakfast, speaking like normal people, while others ate in a robotic fashion that looked disturbing to Harleen, as if everything that made them human had been leeched away. 

“Usually what we do is have you pick out your lunch for the week from a little card that is given out every Sunday to be filled by the end of the day. Since you are only supposed to be with us for a short time, that won’t be necessary, but you will have to settle with what’s available. Though if you have a special request, I’ll see what I can do.” Dorothy smiled pleasantly heading toward a long table where one lone individual sat. 

Sitting at the table, alone, was the largest man Harleen had ever seen. He wasn’t just large for a normal man, he looked large for a gorilla, maybe large for two or three gorillas! His massive form took up the entire side of one table, which made Harleen wonder why the table hadn’t flipped up or split in two already, but as Dorothy wheeled her closer Harleen noticed the large bolts dug into the tiles of the floor. 

The man’s uniform, clearly made specially for him, was stretched nonetheless. Every fiber of the uniform he wore looked as if it were struggling to contain him, and just barely able to do so. The large man’s skin color was washed out, not as if he were sick, but more as if he were just...grey. Harleen frowned slightly, deciding he must be grey like Joker’s skin was porcelain white. The massive man was hunched over his tray of food, which was piled high with the biggest plate of scrambled eggs she had ever seen, a stack of toast that had to be an entire loaf of bread, and a side of bacon that had at least twenty slices or more and five apples. Next to his plate sat a mug of coffee that looked like the cup belonged in a dollhouse. The large man was eating very delicately from his rubbery scrambled eggs while he held a plastic fork dwarfed in his large hand. 

The giant bald man looked up inquisitively at Dorothy, Harleen, and Henry, though Harleen noted the way the man’s dark eyes narrowed, his expression becoming frightening when his gaze locked with Henry before returning his attention to Harleen and Dorothy. Once he was looking at the two of them, his expression became what Harleen thought could only be curious. 

“Harleen, this is Solomon Grundy, at least the records we have say that’s his name, but he only ever answers to Bob.” Dorothy shrugged. “I’m not sure if our records are wrong or he just decided he liked the name Bob better. Either way, Bob is one of our patients who stays with us on and off. He doesn’t speak, but if he likes you he will teach you his own sign language.” Dorothy had walked over to stand beside Harleen’s chair. Harleen watched as the nurse signed and Bob smiled, signing back. Dorothy grinned and signed something to which Bob nodded. 

“Good.” Dorothy glanced over at Harleen. “I asked Bob if he’d mind keeping an eye on you while you’re here. Some of the patients, the long term ones, can be a bit…” She frowned looking for a diplomatic word before she finally settled on the word. “...particular. They are not always welcoming to new patients. Bob here will make sure you don’t have any trouble, won’t you Bob?” 

Bob grinned brightly. The man’s smile completely transformed his face from being frightening to cheerful, his dark eyes lighting up in such a way that the large man looked...the only word that Harleen could think of was adorable. 

“Well, why don’t you sit here and I’ll go fetch you some breakfast.” Dorothy smiled. Henry glared at Bob who was ignoring he orderly completely, his attention on Harleen. Bob grinned and gestured to the bench on the other side of the table. Harleen smiled back and rose out of the wheelchair to take a seat at the table with the big man. 

Henry left with the chair while Dorothy headed to the kitchen. 

Harleen frowned slightly, looking across at Bob. “Ah, my name is Harleen.” 

Bob smiled at her and nodded. He pointed at his chest, grinning brightly. 

Harleen nodded. “And you’re Bob.” 

Bob nodded happily. 

Smiling just a little, Harleen reached out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you Bob.” 

Bob took her hand, her hand became lost in Bob’s massive palm, but the big man held her hand gently and delicately as he shook her hand, his smile reaching his eyes. 

Harleen couldn’t help but smile back at him. 

* 

While eating breakfast with Bob, who was a pleasant if silent companion, Harleen had stood up to take her tray and dishes to deposit them where they needed to go for cleaning when she was suddenly shoved from the side, nearly knocking her off her feet. 

Harleen yelped in surprise, catching herself just before she would have fallen to the floor. 

“Hey new girl!” 

Harleen looked over to see a pretty woman with long, light red hair wearing the same patient’s clothing as everyone else, but she had a cigarette between her fingers, a cloud of cigarette smoke around her head. She was glaring at Harleen, looking down her nose at her, one arm crossed over her chest while she held her other arm up, the cigarette dangling from her fingers. The woman’s attitude reminded Harleen of some of the doctor’s where she worked, doctors who thought they were better than the rest of the staff and had no problem making sure that everyone knew they were better than them; it didn’t matter if it was true or not, so certain were they in their own superiority. 

“I said, ‘Hey new girl,’” she repeated taking a drag on her cigarette, glaring at Harleen with grey blue eyes that were sharp and framed by the red that was shot through the whites of her eyes. 

Harleen rubbed her shoulder and glared back at the woman. “What do you want?” 

The other woman narrowed her eyes at Harleen in a clearly superior way, which made Harleen want to roll her eyes. The least superior people were always the loudest about being superior she had discovered. Harleen usually just steered clear of those types of people, ignoring them whenever possible, but sometimes these types of people refused to be ignored. 

Sometimes you just couldn’t avoid the bullies. 

“What’s your name?” the other woman asked and leaned over to put her cigarette out against the side of the trash can before flicking the butt inside the can. 

“Harleen,” Harleen said with a frown. 

“Well, that’s a stupid name. Harleen? Were you’re parents assholes giving you a name like that?” She wrinkled her nose in disgust before she added. “I’m Barbara, I run the place.” Barbara smirked at Harleen looking around the cafeteria like a queen taking in her kingdom before turning her attention back to Harleen. 

She so much wanted to tell Barbara that being in charge of a ward in an insane asylum when you were one of the patients was not something to be proud of, but instead she muttered, “I thought that was the doctors?” Harleen gave Barbara a small smile. 

Barbara glared at her and reached out to poke Harleen in the shoulder. “Look blondie, I decide what goes on in this ward. I get the best seats, first crack at the games, I get served meals first, and if you get anything from the outside, I get to have whatever I want from it. Got it.” Barbara glared at her. “You get that straight, nothing bad will happen to you while you’re here. Forget that and your time here with be painful.” 

“What if I say no?” Harleen asked, folding her arms across her chest. She had had a bad few days and decided she was about at her limit with what she was going to take. 

“You’ll be sorry,” Barbara hissed with an ugly scowl crossing her features. 

“What are you doing to do about it?” Harleen smirked at her. “Glare at me?” 

Harleen knew she probably shouldn’t have been so snarky. These people in here were literally crazy and here she was poking the bear, so to speak, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She was tired, angry, scared and alone. Her own brother had lied and stuck her in here to be observed instead of being on her side instead of trusting her. The last thing she wanted was to deal with some crazy woman who thought she was in charge of the ward. The doctor part of her told her she should be careful, try to help this woman even while she was a patient herself, but Harleen just couldn’t seem to muster up her usual sympathy. 

Barbara did glare at Harleen, which made her want to giggle, but she stopped herself, tightening her arms across her chest instead. 

Barbara leaned close and whispered viciously, her voice dripping with contempt. “Just watch yourself new girl.” 

Harleen watched as the red headed woman spun on her heels and marched off, heading over to a table with three other patients; two men and one woman waited for her. Slowly, she let her breath out and headed back over to Bob who was watching with a frown. 

“It’s like I’m back in high school…” she muttered to herself taking her seat across from Bob who smiled reassuringly at her with a slight nod. 

Sighing heavily Harleen leaned her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands pushing her fingertips against her forehead, struggling to control herself. Her chin trembled as she pressed her lips together. Everything hurt, her body hurt from last night, and her mind hurt from right now. She was so fucking alone in this horrible place, scared, and she didn’t know what to do or how she was going to convince anyone that she was sane. 

Tears stung her eyes and for a moment she thought she might lose control. Her breath became ragged as she struggled to control herself, to not let her despair overwhelm her and start crying in the middle of the cafeteria where everyone could see her, but tears started to slowly spill over her lashes despite her best effort to stop them. 

She sniffed hard, pressing her hands hard against her face, her nails pressing against her forehead struggling not to break down into loud sobs. Crying would only make her a bigger target to bullies like Barbara. 

The bench creaked loudly. Harleen could feel the shift, as if a mountain moved. The next thing she knew she was looking up as Bob sat down beside her. His large frame nearly knocked her off the bench, but he put his arm around her shoulders to both prevent her from falling and to pull her close. Looking up at him in confusion Bob smiled and squeezed her shoulders gently, pulling her against him, reaching over with his other hand to gently pat the top of her head. For a giant man, he was very gentle. 

She didn’t respond at first, but after a few moments she felt herself relax, if only a little. 

Harleen smiled up at him and whispered, “Thank you Bob.” 

Bob smiled, nodding his head. He continued to gently stroke the top of her head like she was a puppy, and Harleen found that she didn’t really mind. She let out a breath, her body relaxing a fraction as she leaned against Bob’s side. 

She could get through this she told herself. It was only seventy-two hours... 

* 

Later, the group of patients were moved to the rec room, a large open room painted a dull beige color. The dull room contained several tables, chairs, a couple of beat up and old looking couches, a television, radio, some boardgames, puzzles, crayons, coloring books, a ping pong table, along with a couple of plastic buckets filled with toys, like stuffed animals and toy trains. The room reminded her of a daycare, though without any vibrant colors to make the place even remotely cheerful. But the part of the room that drew Harleen’s immediate attention were the windows. There were two large windows along only one wall of the room that let in some of the grey natural light from outside. She could see that that it was raining out, the drops of water spattered across the glass of the window making the outside look distorted. Each window was covered with bars, bars that crisscrossed over the glass. One might be able to stick their hand through to touch the glass on the other side, but the bars were close enough together that even that simple touch might be impossible. 

The bars made Harleen’s stomach drop. For some reason the bars on the windows made Harleen feel even more hopeless, trapped. Pain rolled into a tight ball in her throat. She could feel herself starting to panic. She started to take little short breaths as the walls began to close in on her. She wasn’t claustrophobic, but knowing she was trapped, couldn’t leave… 

Just before she thought was going to lose control, Bob took her hand in one massive grey hand. She looked up to see him smiling down at her, holding her hand not tightly, but snugly enough that she felt safe. Taking several deep breaths, Harleen let the air out slowly, and the knot in her throat that had dropped to her stomach eased enough that she didn’t feel as if she was going to start screaming. 

Bob gave her hand a comforting squeeze before he led Harleen over to the one of the couches were he plopped down (it popped and creaked under his weight) pulling her with him. Harleen couldn’t help but giggle as she sat down next to Bob. On the television cartoons were playing. Grinning at Harleen, Bob rested his hands across his belly and leaned back, stretching his legs out, which pushed the table that sat in front of the couch, covered in old magazines, out as he settled down to watch the cartoons on the screen in contentment. Harleen sat beside him, almost sinking into the couch. 

While Bob watched his cartoons, occasionally laughing silently, the entire couch vibrating with his silent laughter, Harleen looked around taking in the other patients that she was sharing this ward with. She saw Barbara sitting with the same two men and one woman that she had been with at breakfast. They were all sitting around a table, leaning close and whispering, occasionally shooting hateful glances toward her. Harleen just barely resisted the urge to give them the middle finger. Being in here less than a day had already made her much more snarky than usual she mused. 

Her gaze moved around the room, leaning over to look around Bob at the other patients. There were two other women in here, but the other four patients were men. Only one of them was looking over at her, (the rest seemed to be pointedly ignoring her), a woman with short blonde hair, large blue eyes, and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She was sitting at a table alone coloring. The woman, who was probably close to the same age as Harleen, raised a hand in a wave. Harleen frowned for just a moment before she waved back. The other woman smiled a little wider before returning her attention to the coloring book she was working in. 

Harleen settled back again, glancing up at Bob. 

Bob looked down at her and smiled before turning his attention back to the cartoons. She supposed there were worse ways to spend her morning Harleen thought, settling back to watch cartoons with Bob. 

At least for the moment she didn’t have to think about the fact that she was locked in an asylum, alone...


	9. Seeking Help

The sound of knocking brought Ivy out of a deep sleep in which she’d been having the best dream; she had been in a thick lush forest filled with naked, muscled men all wanting to do her bidding. With a loud groan, Ivy rolled over and tried to ignore the knocking, trying to find her way back to her dream of naked men and lush forests, but the sound became more persistent, as if whoever was doing the knocking somehow sensed she was actually awake. Rolling over again, Ivy opened one eye and looked up. Her bedroom was in the basement of her shop, there was a set of stairs in the back that led down to it, (mostly covered in flowering vines to hide the stairs from anyone who happened to wander back there) there was a series of rectangular stained glass windows that ran along the ceiling of her basement bedroom, and from the windows Ivy could see that sun coming through those panes of colorful glass to create a kaleidoscope of colors in her room. Judging by the quality of the sun, it was early morning she figured, far too early to be up, especially after she had spent her evening entertaining a gentleman friend in a very vigorous fashion. 

Ivy briefly smiled at the remembered romp last night, but then growled in annoyance when the knocking started again. 

She didn’t know who was knocking at her bedroom door of all places, but they could go fuck themselves she thought viciously as she rolled over and covered her head with her pillow. Shielded by her pillow, Ivy waited for the knocking to stop, but it didn’t. If anything, whoever was knocking became more insistent yet, knocking in short, quick raps with barely a pause between them. After a few of those knocks, they were joined by someone hissing. “Ivy...Ivy...Ivy...I know you’re in there, answer your goddamn door! Ivy...Ivy!” More quick knocks. 

Ivy growled. “I’m going to kill whoever it is!” 

She leapt out of bed, grabbed her robe, a soft green velvet robe trimmed in white fur, and wrapped it around her see through green gown. Her red hair was a riot of curls around her shoulders making her look as if her head was on fire--to match her mood as she yanked the door to her bedroom open, ready to give whoever it was that dared knock at her door a piece of her mind so barbed that they died on the spot. She swallowed her anger when she saw who stood at her door looking out of place in the morning light…. 

“Joker?” Ivy said the man’s name in confusion. 

Joker looked frantic. His entire person vibrated with manic energy and Ivy could see he was upset, more so than she had ever seen him. He looked as if he’d been out for a night on the town, though Ivy knew the man long enough to know he always dressed in that manner no matter the time of day. This morning he was wearing a black and white tails tux with a bright purple rose on his lapel, his black top hat covering most but not all of his green hair, along with a cape against the morning chill, and round, dark purple lensed glasses to hide his blue eyes and black gloves. While his outfit looked put together, the lines around his red lipsticked mouth told a different story, as did the pallor of his always pale skin. The man always had skin color of a dead corpse she knew, but this morning what little color the man had looked drained. But what really set Ivy on edge was the fact that Frost was standing behind Joker with a grim expression on his face. Frost never came with Joker to make personal visits unless something terrible was about to happen, or had already happened. 

Ivy stared at the pair in shock for a moment before she finally said, “Come in.” 

Joker rushed in and his nervous energy completely destroyed the calm of her bedroom. Frost walked more calmly behind him. “Sorry Miss Ivy,” he murmured as he passed her. 

Ivy smiled nodding. “It’s fine. Do you both want some tea?” she asked walking across her bedroom to the small stove she had down here just for small things like tea, eggs, and sometimes she would make french toast if she had a guest stay the night with her. 

“There's no time for tea woman!!” Joker spun around, his cape whipping out behind him dramatically as he yanked his top hat off and ran his gloved fingers through his green hair. “We have to come up with a rescue to plan!!” 

“Rescue? What are you talking about?” Ivy glanced from Joker--who had started to pace her bedroom--to Frost who shrugged and said softly, “If you have anything that might calm him down, I think that would be a very good idea.” 

“I don’t need to be calmed down!!” Joker yelled, nearly throwing his hat, but stopped himself, just barely. “I need to rescue Harley!” 

“Harley?” Ivy frowned as she grabbed her kettle and held it under the water tap from her corner sink. “Who is..?” 

“Harleen Quinzel!! Dr. Quinzel!!” Joker snarled and stamped his foot as if Ivy was intentionally being difficult. 

Frost hurried over and put his hands on Joker’s shoulders. “Boss, you need to calm down. Breathe...remember how I taught you.” He smiled and slowly breathed through his nose then out through his mouth, demonstrating for Joker what he wanted the clown to do. Joker looked ready to fight Frost as he slammed his hands down on Frost shoulders, his gloved fingers digging into Frost’s jacket, glaring over the top of his glasses at the other man. 

Ivy watched them while she put her kettle on her stove, reached up to the cabinet above to pull out a small tin of tea, her own blend. 

Joker breathed in slowly, then out, glaring at Frost who didn’t let go of Joker. The two men breathed in and out together until Joker seemed to collapse, his shoulders sagging in defeat. 

“There--better.” Frost smiled reassuringly before turning his attention to Ivy. “Can I sit him down?” 

“Ah sure.” Ivy hurried over to the corner of her room where her vanity sat covered in several colored jars and bottles as well as a climbing rose that wrapped around the mirror of the vanity, the roses blooming and emitting a bright, fragrant perfume. She pulled a tapestried stool out from under the vanity and pulled it over to Frost who gently guided Joker down onto it. “Keep breathing and Miss Ivy is going to give you some tea. I want you to drink it all.” 

“But…” Joker began to protest, but Ivy could see there was something more than simply madness in the man’s blue eyes--she saw fear and pain. 

“What is going on exactly and what does this have to do with Miss Quinzel?” Ivy asked as she poured the tea leaves into three mismatched ceramic cups, all three decorated with different hand painted flowers. 

“It’s Dr. Quinzel,” Joker spat, but his tone lacked the anger it held before. 

Ivy pursed her lips. “Dr. Quinzel. What does this have to do with her?” 

Frost glanced at Joker. “You should explain what you saw.” 

Joker nodded, taking another breath in, then let it out slowly before he told Ivy about the ghoul. 

* 

Joker held the cup of warm tea between his hands, letting the warmth and aroma help to calm his nerves. “She was seeing something in the room,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “Something that scared her...I don’t know what she was seeing, but...” He took a deep breath. “Then...” His voice cracked and he looked up at Ivy, having removed his glasses earlier so that she could see his brilliant blue eyes. Ivy’s heart twisted to see the real fear and pain in his gaze. She knew then her earlier evaluation of Joker’s feelings toward Miss Quinzel were correct--he was falling in love with her. “They took her to Arkham Ivy, Arkham Asylum. They took her to hell…” He looked down at his cup of his tea and Ivy saw his gaze become lost as he gazed at the brown liquid in his cup. “I can’t leave her there...I can’t.” He looked up again and hissed between his teeth, his voice mixed with rage. “I can’t let them hurt her.” 

Ivy frowned, leaning against her chest of drawers, her hand wrapped around her cup of tea as some of the vines from her climbing rose--which also decorated the ceiling of her room--leaned down, the tendrils brushing her cheeks and stroking her curls while she pressed her lips together and looked down at her cup of tea. 

“She came to see me because of ghosts, you say a ghoul attacked her, and now you say she was seeing things,” Ivy murmured speaking more to herself than to either Joker or Frost, especially since Joker already knew this bit of information. She looked back up. “I had originally recommended that she see a spiritualist I know...James Corrigan, but you already know that.” 

Joker only grinned in response as Ivy continued. “He’s good at what he does, but his area of expertise usually deals with spirits and ghosts, not ghouls. Still, it seems like you need a different sort of help.” She looked at them both and nodded. “I think you might want to speak with John Constantine. Instead of Corrigan.” 

Joker stared at her and blinked slowly before he answered. “John Constantine, the John Constantine?” 

“Yes? Do you know him?” Ivy asked, only to have Joker burst out laughing. “Know him? He’s a dumbass, I’m always slipping over to his place to steal shit.” Joker laughed. “His house likes me.” 

He smiled proudly. 

Ivy rolled her eyes. “Of course the House of Mystery likes you.” 

Frost’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I don’t know if Constantine will talk to us, not after the last time.” He glanced at Joker who snickered. “...but it was funny.” 

Joker grinned at Ivy. “We were both after this very special ingredient for a spell and I got it first.” Joker looked smug, but Frost added, “Only because we tricked him.” 

Ivy snickered, reaching up to cover her smile. “Well, John is a bit of a dick, so I’m sure he deserved it.” 

“See!” Joker pointed at Ivy, but turned to address Frost. “I told you he was a dick!” 

Frost didn’t reply, but Ivy snorted. “You’re a dick too Joker.” 

“Hey!” Joker looked insulted, but Frost pressed his lips together trying not to chuckle at the look of indignation on Joker’s face. 

Ivy shook her head. “Anyway, you might want to talk to John about what was happening to Miss Quinzel. He deals in all sorts of supernatural things, but as for getting her out of Arkham…” Ivy frowned, placing her cup in the tiny sink before she turned back around to face them. “I just don’t know.” She cocked her head to the side and gazed at Joker. “Why did you come to me anyway? Why not go to her brother?” 

“He’s the one who put her in there.” Joker’s voice became low and sounded vicious and Ivy saw murder shining his in eyes. “He wanted her to be given a psych eval, held for seventy-two hours, but I know what he wants--he wants the house, he wants whatever is in the Quinzel lab, he wants everything that their parents gave to Harley.” 

“What’s in the Quinzel lab?” Ivy asked softly, curious. 

Joker shook his head. “I don’t know exactly. I mean, I know, but I don’t know what he thinks is in there.” 

“Were they working on something special?” Ivy walked over and took Frost's empty cup from him, then walked over and took Joker’s mug as he handed it to her. “If I tell you something, will you keep it secret?” Joker asked. Ivy detected an earnestness in his eyes that surprised her. He wanted to trust her, which surprised her even more. 

Odd, she thought. It must have something to do with Miss Quinzel, that young woman was certainly twisting the Joker Ivy knew around her little finger. “Yes, you have my word,” she said, even crossing her finger over her heart. 

Joker glanced at Frost who nodded before he spoke. “They were working on something to help me,” Joker said softly, his words tight. He felt telling her was exposing a weakness in himself, which made Ivy all the more curious; Harleen Quinzel was working some sort of magic on the manic clown. 

Interesting, she thought. 

“For you?” the red headed woman asked with curiosity. 

Joker nodded, licking his lips. “They were trying to cure me.” 

“Cure you?” Ivy frowned. “What’s wrong with you? I mean, besides the fact that you are clearly not stable.” 

Joker giggled, his eyes shining. “Not a thing...but...they were trying to help me remember who I was. Who I had been...” He tapped the side of his head with one gloved finger. “I tend to live in the now...I don’t have a past.” 

Ivy tapped her finger against her lips. “Interesting. Now why would her brother care about that, unless there is something else in there?” 

Joker shrugged. “There might be. The Quinzels had all sorts of fun things in their lab, though I suppose he could simply be after the house and the money. They didn’t leave him anything, they left it all to Harley.” 

“Well, that still brings us back to the problem of getting her out of Arkham.” Ivy sighed. “I suggest speaking to John first. He might be able to deal with that problem as well, then come back here and let me know.” Ivy sighed again. “She seemed like a sweet girl. I hate to see her in that place.” Ivy frowned and met Joker’s gaze. “Why are you so interested in getting her out?” 

Joker slowly ran his finger along the bridge of nose, his eyes were haunted looking. “That place is terrible...frightening. There are real monsters in Arkham. I was--I am one of their monsters. Harley is too innocent for that place. They’ll hurt her, and besides, I know she isn’t crazy.” He smiled softly. “And I, uh...” He frowned then whispered. “I think I could fall in love with her.” 

Ivy smiled at him. “All right, we’ll go talk to John together. He’ll be at Oblivion Bar, he’s there at all hours...just let me get dressed. Both of you wait outside.” 

Joker frowned and protested. “It’s daylight out there…” 

“Stop being a baby and get out. I’ll meet you outside.” Ivy pointed at the door. 

Joker stood up, putting his glasses back on while grumbling under his breath as Frost opened the door. Joker stopped in the doorway, turning around and surprised Ivy again as he whispered, “Thank you Ivy.” 

She blinked in surprise, then smiled. “Don’t thank me yet. Thank me when we get her out.” 

* 

Harley wrapped her arms around herself as she walked down the hall, following Nurse Duncan with Henry walking too close behind her, close enough that she could feel him looming over her, though he didn’t say a word and he didn’t touch her. She had been given a robe, the same bleached white as the patient uniform and some little socks to wear with her slip on shoes. The new clothing helped a little against the chill; she was quickly discovering that the asylum was always cold. Her hair hung down around her shoulders, the staff unwilling to give her anything to pull her hair back with. 

The hall they were in was sterile, the color of the walls was the same dull bluish-green grey with white ceilings that Harley had seen everywhere. It seemed to her as if the asylum was afraid to use any color at all. At this point, any bright color would be a shock to the system Harley thought with a bitter twist of her lips. There were no photos on the walls and there were no windows looking outside (unlike the rec room) that would tell her anything about the time of day it was though she supposed it was morning since she had received rubbery eggs and limp, soggy toast for breakfast, though Bob had stayed with her until Nurse Duncan had fetched her for her session with Dr. Strange. 

Yesterday had been dull and lifeless, but at least they had left her alone. That had also made her worry. She was only supposed to be here for seventy-two hours, so why didn’t they talk to her until now? Unless she wasn’t going to be here a mere three days. That thought made Harley feel like she had a hard, heavy stone sitting in her stomach. As a doctor herself, she knew it was much harder to prove you were sane than insane. Shivering as her blood ran cold, Harley wrapped her arms tighter around herself, wishing the robe was thicker to stave off the cold she felt, but she knew the thickness of the cloth wouldn’t matter. The cold she was feeling came from deep within. 

Nurse Duncan stopped at a wooden door, the door’s brown color making it look like a sore against the constant greyish color of the wall. There was a simple name plate that read STRANGE in bold white on black letters. Duncan gave a short rap against the door and Harley could hear a muffled voice on the other side. 

“Enter.” 

Duncan opened the door, then stood aside to let Harley enter first. 

Taking a deep breath, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart, Harley stepped through the doorway. 

* 

Unlike the rest of the asylum, Strange’s office walls were painted a warm brown and yellow. The room had a cozy feeling to it; a simple brown carpet sat on the floor and the furniture was all wood and leather, the walls covered in bookcases stuffed with books. An ivory bust of someone Harley didn’t recognize sat on one shelf and one small section of wall was covered in framed diplomas. Harley also noticed the subtle marks on the walls, mostly hidden by the shelves and diplomas, but she saw the signs, magical marks of protection on the room. Without seeing them completely she couldn’t tell what sigils they were, but she assumed they protected the doctor from being seriously hurt by an insane patient, as well as protecting the office from break ins. Not that unusual, but Harley knew those sorts of magical workings could be expensive. 

Strange wore his chin strap style beard cut close and neatly trimmed. His bald head was so perfectly smooth that the light of the room reflected off it, and his dark, narrow eyes seemed to pin her from behind his round glasses. He was dressed in a simple, but still clearly expensive tailored dark brown suit with a deep, dull red tie, sat behind a large, heavy wooden desk. 

“Ahh...Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Please.” He gestured over to a reclining couch, a stereotypical psychiatrist couch used in movies. “Have a seat. Thank you Nurse Duncan, Henry. I’ll call when Dr. Quinzel is ready to mingle with the other patients.” 

“Of course Dr. Strange.” Nurse Duncan smiled at Strange in a way that made Harley wonder if the woman had a “thing” for the doctor while Henry nodded, but turned his attention to Harley just long enough to wink at her and make her shiver. 

Once the door was closed Strange stood and gestured to his desk where Harley could see a tea pot covered in a tea cozy, another jar with a spoon sticking out of it, and two cups. “Would you like some tea? It’s a very nice blend of lavender and chamomile tea, wonderful for calming the nerves.” He smiled, lifting a brow in question at her. 

Harley thought about refusing--just on principle--but she figured not only would that look like she was being stubborn, but also childish just for the sake of it. And who knew, maybe refusing tea would make her look less sane in his eyes, and she very much wanted Dr. Strange to see her as reasonable, sane, and not being a difficult patient just for the sake of being difficult. 

“Yes, please.” Harley smiled pleasantly. 

“Good, very good.” Strange smiled, picked up the tea pot and poured two cups of tea. “I have some honey here…” He gestured to a small ceramic jar with a pour tip. “I recommend the honey with the tea, I don’t usually have milk or cream, but if you want I can call Henry back to fetch us…” 

“No, no that sounds wonderful thank you,” Harley interrupted with just a hint of a smile. The last thing she wanted was for Dr. Strange to call Henry in here again. She wasn’t worried about the orderly touching her, but she just didn’t want to give the man any more chances than he had to make eyes at her or do anything at all in regards to her. The man made her feel more than a little uncomfortable. 

Strange smiled at her again, picking up the tiny pot and poured two sticky drops of honey into each cup before he stirred each of them with a spoon. He walked around his desk and handed one of the cups to her. 

“Please, take a sip and tell me what you think.” He leaned his backside against his desk, smiling as he took a sip of his own cup watching her. 

Harley’s lips turned down slightly, but she took the cup, which felt nice and warm. She wrapped both hands around it hoping to gather some of the warmth into her body before she took a sip. 

The tea was just as good as he had said. 

“This is wonderful.” Harley smiled taking another sip as Strange drank from his cup. “My mother makes it herself,” he said with pride before taking another sip and then set his cup aside. “Now, Dr. Quinzel, I was just reading your chart before you came in. You claim you saw your father’s ghost, were attacked by an intelligent ghoul, and you saw…” He reached behind him, picking up a small data pad that he tapped lightly. “Mm...there are no specifics about what you saw in your hospital room.” He looked up from the pad to her. “Would you like to tell me what you saw?” 

Harley stiffened, her eyes going to the bandage that was under her arm from when she had tried to tear open the skin because she had felt and saw something slithering under her skin, under the paint of the walls. And then there were the whispers, the continuing whispers she had heard… 

Swallowing Harley shook her head again. “No, I don’t want to talk about that.” 

Strange nodded, setting the data pad down on the desk behind him. “So, I understand you’ve been under a great deal of stress as of late.” 

Harley frowned at him, her eyes narrowing every so slightly. “If you call the death of both my parents stress, then yes. If you call my brother turning into a cruel and heartless jackass, then yes, I’ve been under a great deal of stress.” She snapped at the doctor, unable to keep the bitterness and sarcasm from her voice. 

Strange didn’t react, he only nodded. “I see...so let us talk about your relationship with your brother.” 

“What relationship?” she snapped before she could stop herself. She sighed as Strange lifted a brow at her tone. Harley took another sip of the tea, though now it tasted a little bitter. 

“So you and your brother are estranged--is that why your parents didn’t leave him anything in the will?” Strange asked. 

Harley, who was staring at her cup, rolled it gently between her hands as the heat slowly ebbed away, and looked up at Strange with a frown. “My brother has always been…” She sighed, trying to find the right word,he didn’t want to say anything too negative about her brother, considering he was the one who put her in here and probably the only one who could get her out, but… 

“Our relationship was always strained--big brother, little sister. I wanted to be closer, but Gregory had his own life that he wanted to live, his own way of doing things. He disappointed our parents on numerous occasions.” She shrugged. “I guess he hurt them one time too many.” 

“And you, the dutiful daughter, went to college, got her degree with a successful career. I suppose you were the child that never disappointed them?” Strange asked pleasantly, but Harley glared, knew exactly what he was doing. He was trying to insinuate that she sucked up to her parents, that her being a good child was some sort of angle, or that she was too weak-willed to pursue her own life. 

“What has any of this to do with why I’m in here?” Harley asked, setting her cup down on the floor. 

Strange smiled and walked over to pick up her cup. “I’m just trying to get to know you better Harleen. Do you mind if I call you Harleen or do you have a nickname you might prefer, like, Harley maybe?” Strange set her cup down next to his on his desk before walking back around to take his seat at his desk. 

“How about we put those questions about your family aside and you answer some different ones, such as do you take drugs? Or do you have a drinking problem?” Strange steepled his fingers as he rested his elbows on his desk while smiling at her, his eyes not matching the smile. “What kind of life do you lead outside the limelight of the Quinzel name?” 

“I don’t take drugs,” Harley said with more temper than she had intended. “Up until I returned to Gotham, I’ve been a teacher and a doctor. I’ve had no personal life to speak of, only a professional one.” She glared at Strange, her jaw clenched as she said tightly, “Whatever you’re insinuating about me Dr. Strange, I don’t appreciate it.” 

“Perhaps not having a personal life might be part of your issue Harleen?” Strange suggested softly. 

“I do not have a problem.” Harley only barely stopped herself from yelling. She held her hands in such tight fists that her fingernails were pressing into her palms painfully. 

“But you see things that aren’t there. Now how else would you explain it?” Strange asked with a slight smile. “You could be taking drugs, drinking yourself into a stupor, or perhaps the death of your parents has caused you more stress than you anticipated? Or maybe you should look at other stresses in your life, such as not having a personal life? You are clearly not sleeping through the night if you are up seeing ghosts and ghouls or seeing things that aren’t there at all.” Strange picked up a pen and pulled out a pad of paper from the drawer under his desk. He began to write while he spoke. 

“I think we’ll start out with some antipsychotic drugs along with some cognitive-behavior therapy. If those do not work we have many other therapies we can try. We have the latest in ECT treatments as well as several other revolutionary treatments that have shown wonderful results…” Strange seemed not to be talking to her, more to himself than to her, but Harley stood up. She felt angry, but more than that, she was terrified, it was just as she feared. They were not going to give her a chance to prove she was sane, they had already written her off as crazy. 

She was never going to get out of here. 

Tears of fear and anger gathered in the corner of her eyes. She tried to fight them off, but they rolled down her cheeks despite her best efforts. She knew she had to look crazy in the hospital clothing, her hair hanging down around her shoulders, unstyled, no makeup, nothing around her that would speak to her sanity, but plenty that made her look like some crazy woman whose grief had driven her over the edge. 

“I am not crazy! I am neither schizophrenic nor am I bipolar! The things I saw and experienced were real!” She kept her hands balled into fists at her side to prevent herself from slamming them on Strange’s desk, but she was shaking with the effort and even as she tried to keep her tone reasonable, her voice shifted from angry to anguish. 

“There is nothing wrong with me,” she pleaded. 

Strange smiled at her. “The first step Harleen is admitting you have a problem.” 

“You are not going to let me out after seventy-two hours are you.” She didn’t ask this as a question, but was making a simple statement. “How much is my brother paying you to keep me in here?” She heard the growl in her voice, she just couldn’t help herself. 

“Well, we’ll talk again tomorrow Harleen…” Strange hit something somewhere, a button under his desk perhaps--she couldn’t be sure--but a moment later his office door opened. Henry and Nurse Duncan came into the room and the sight of them made Harley shiver. 

“Please take Dr. Quinzel to the rec room, but starting tomorrow she will have a plan to follow like the other patients.” Strange spoke as if Harley was no longer in the room. 

“I am not crazy,” she insisted even as more tears rolled down her cheeks. “I am not crazy.” 

Nurse Duncan walked over and put a hand on Harley’s shoulder, steering her out of the room even as Henry leered at her. 

“Yes dear, that’s what they all say, but we’ll take real good care of you. Won’t we Henry?” Duncan looked back at the orderly who only whispered, his voice cold, but not emotionless. There was something in his tone that made ice run down her spine. 

“Oh yeah Nurse Duncan, real good care of her.” 

“I promise Harleen, we’ll get to the bottom of your problems,” she heard Dr. Strange call out to her as the door to his office closed with a snap, cutting off Harley’s chances of leaving the asylum. 

* 

Once Harley was in the rec room with some of the other patients, she saw Bob, who was standing by one of the windows. The light coming through the bars seemed to soak into his dark grey skin, making the large man look like some sort of statute, but the moment Harley entered the room he came alive. He walked over to put his arm around her shoulders and led her away from Henry who glared at the big man, but did nothing to stop the big man. 

Bob led Harley over to the couch, stopping to glare at the couple of patients sitting on it until they both got the message to move, then he sat down, putting Harley next to him. 

Harley looked up at the big man and gave him a sad, sick smile. “Thank you Bob.” 

Bob smiled back at her and patted the top of her head gently. 

Harley wasn’t sure why, but that small gesture caused the dam to finally break. Harley burst into tears, but Bob simply pulled her close and let her cry against his side. 

* 

Gregory, wearing a light grey plaid suit with chalk-white strips with a matching hat and pink tie, grinned as he hopped up the last few steps to the front door of the Quinzel family house, the keys jingling in his hand. Circe walked beside him wearing a long green dress that hugged every curve, with a black fun wrap around her shoulders and her hair piled on her head in a Grecian fashion, tied with gold ropes. She looked like a cross between a Greek goddess and a sophisticate on her way to an expensive party. She held a black umbrella over her head as it had begun to rain and wore a pair of cat-eye framed sunglasses against the weak light of daytime. 

Looking back at her, Gregory dangled the keys. “It’s all ours,” he said cheerfully before he slipped the keys into the locks and opened the door. 

The house hadn’t lain empty for more than a day, but already the house felt hollow and empty without his parents or his sister filling it with their vibrant energy. For a moment Gregory felt odd, as if he were invading instead of conquering. He quickly brushed aside the feelings as he stepped inside and held the door for Circe. 

“We are victorious.” He grinned as he shut the door behind her. 

“We’re only victorious if we can get into the lab,” she reminded him with a look around, her nose wrinkled in disgust. 

“I still can’t believe the favor you want is to get into my parents’ stinky lab.” Gregory grinned as he slipped his jacket off and tossed both his hat and his jacket onto a nearby coat stand in the corner by the front door. 

Circe smiled, brushing her long nails against his cheek. “Remember dear, I said it was only part of the favor you owe me.” 

“Yeah...whatever,” Gregory groused, having hoped to trick her into agreeing to the lab being the entire favor, but he should have known the witch couldn’t be tricked with simple words and misdirection. That didn’t mean he was going to give up. And who the fuck knew what was in that lab, he wasn’t just going to hand the entire lab over to her without knowing what was in it. There might be some valuable things in there he could sell. While magic and alchemy had never been something he was very good with, that didn’t mean that he didn’t know the intrinsic and market value of some spell and alchemy components. He’d worked in the blackmarket long enough to know that something as common as a dead man’s toe could fetch a pretty price (depending on freshness) to the right magical buyer. He just needed to get into that lab before Circe so he could have a chance to look over the contents. 

Gregory sighed while looking around, then motioned at Circe. He couldn’t avoid showing her where the lab was or pretending he didn’t know where it was, so he might as well hope that maybe the lab was still sealed and this bitch couldn’t get it open. 

Gregory led the way through the house and up the stairs, mentally evaluating things he could make money off of along the way until they arrived at the hall that led down to the doors that held his parents’ alchemy lab. 

They both stopped, standing in front of the lab doors. There was enough magic surrounding the doors that even Gregory could feel it. He stepped forward and grabbed the handles, giving them a hard twist, but nothing happened. He tried again, and again, but still nothing. He started to put some real effort into trying to open the doors, yanking on the handles, throwing his shoulder against the wood several times, kicking at the doors, taking several steps back and running at them more than once, but the doors never budged, the wood didn’t even creak. 

“Fuck!” Gregory screamed, his voice echoing through the house. 

Circe chuckled, putting a hand on Gregory’s shoulder and pulled him aside. “Now, step aside and let me try.” 

Gregory gave her a dirty look, but he stepped back and let her give the door a try. 

Circe held her hands up, closed her eyes, and began to chant. Gregory watched as her hands slowly began to glow a deep, dark, nearly black purple. He looked around as the room grew colder, and after a few seconds he could see his breath as the witch continued to chant. 

Just as Gregory was beginning to think that all Circe was going to do was make a cold light show, the power from her hands lashed forward to slam into the door. The door made a deep creaking sound and the wood groaned, but it never moved, even as Circe continued to use her magic to push at it. 

Finally after a few more tense seconds, as the temperature dropped lower in the hallway, Gregor was freezing. And then, as if a strong breeze had just come washing through the hall, Circe’s magic finally simply dissipated. 

Circe growled with a puzzled expression on her face. “I don’t know what magic they used to seal this door.” 

She seemed to Gregory to be speaking more to herself than to him. Not so high and mighty after all, he thought. “But you can’t open it can you?” Gregory muttered, his tone smug. 

Circe turned on him, her eyes glowing a mix of violet and green for a second before the light leaked away and they looked normal again. “I have a few more things to try, but this is going to take some time. Might I suggest you go and fletch us some food, maybe dig up some wine?” 

Gregory glared at her, but turned and headed down the stairs. “I’ll order us some take out…” 

Circe watched him go before turning her attention back to the lab doors. “Now how on earth did those two alchemists seal this door?” 

She walked over and began to run her hands along the doors. She could feel the magic they used, strong magic, but she was still no closer to figuring out how to open it. Perhaps she should visit Gregory’s sister tonight. Circe had found that nightmares were a wonderful way to getting information from someone reluctant to talk... 

* 

Joker walked beside Ivy (with Frost walking behind them silent as a shadow) looking like a tall, slender, annoyed shade with is black cape held around him as if he were a vampire afraid of the sun. He had even added a thick black veil to his top hat that he had pulled down over his face, looking as if he had stepped away from a Victorian era funeral. Ivy glanced sideways at him and rolled her eyes. He had his hands buried in the pockets of his trousers and his shoulders were slouched, highlighting the dour grumpiness of his appearance. But that said, he was out here, for Harleen. That young woman had affected him and he clearly felt something for Harleen. Ivy smirked, this was going to be interesting to watch, the Joker in love. 

Ivy was dressed far more colorfully. She wore an Art Deco evergreen fringed and sequin dress that featured all-over beading and sequin design over a full liner with a black shawl over her shoulder trimmed in black fur. The dress was more suited for a night on the town, but they were going to Oblivion and she decided the dress was very much suited for that place. She had done her hair up in a soft Gibson Girl style with black and green feathers that flowed down from one side of her hair. She drew attention as they walked (even with the veil the pale man’s handsome features were visible and also drawing attention) down the street. 

The Oblivion Bar changed the location of the door to Gotham every few weeks and was only visible to those who could use magic. Ivy had heard that the entrance had moved down to Port Adams only just this week; they were currently walking down the sidewalk running alongside the docks. While Joker glowered, Ivy kept her eye out for the door until finally she spotted it, an ornately carved wooden door with a stained glass window in the shape of an angel on the front. 

The bar was nothing if not humorous. 

“There it is!” Ivy pointed, drawing Joker’s attention. 

Joker sighed with relief. “Thank heavens. I’m beginning to burn like a slab of bacon out here in the sunshine.” He made a face that made Ivy chuckle. 

“Stop your grousing Joker.” 

Joker responded by sticking his tongue out at her. 

She walked up the steps to the door and knocked five times in a very precise manner. An eyespot near the bottom of the angel opened and a pair of yellow eyes peered out. “Password,” the gruff voice demanded. 

“Round and round the forest, Like a little deer...” Ivy recited. 

The yellow eyes looked to Joker. “Password.” 

Joker sighed. The password to Oblivion was different for every person who was qualified to enter, meaning they must possess at least a smattering of magic. The password either came to a person when they arrived at the door, or they were not invited inside. 

“Shall the king take advice from the jester? What a world turned upside down it would be,” Joker muttered. 

The eyes turned to Frost who repeated. “Olly Olly Oxen Free.” 

The eyes disappeared as the little shutter closed; the door popped open a second later. 

“Welcome to Oblivion.” The same voice that had asked for their passwords said, though none of them could see anyone to whom the voice belonged. 

The inside of the Oblivion Bar was crowded despite the fact that it was still early morning in Gotham, but as the saying went, it was evening somewhere in the multiverse. There were all sorts here, from all over the multiverse and different dimensions, many of them not human. Ivy looked around for a few seconds until she finally spotted who they had come to speak with. 

“Over there, sitting with the chimp in the Sherlock Holmes getup.” She pointed and Joker’s gaze followed her outstretched arm to see John Constantine sitting at the corner of the bar nursing a whiskey, a lit cigarette hanging from between his lips that created a halo of smoke around his blonde head. 

Joker pulled his hat and veiled away. “Oh goodie, he’s drunk already,” he muttered as the trio started to push their way through the crowded bar toward him.


End file.
